And In The Darkness Bind Him
by ainur
Summary: Angst, Set Between Weathertop & Rivendell: The source of Frodo's suffering goes beyond the wound of the Morgul Knife. Aragorn, aided by Sam, works to piece together the puzzle before it's too late. Slightly A/U. NO Slash-profanity-violence. Please R/R! :)
1. Default Chapter

And In The Darkness Bind Him  
  
Slightly A/U, set between Weathertop and Rivendell. Frodo Angst. NO Slash, profanity, violence, etc. Rated PG-13, for mood.  
  
A/N: Please be kind! This is my first fic. Constructive criticism is welcome. Please R/R! :)  
  
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc, belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
  
  
1.1 Chapter I  
  
"Frodo, my boy, breakfast is almost ready. Wake up sleepy-head!" Frodo recognized the voice as Bilbo's. He jumped out of bed, hurrying into the kitchen. Everything was so dark… as if the sun hadn't yet risen. "Frodo…" he heard the voice and stopped in his tracks. That voice… it didn't belong to his beloved uncle Bilbo. It was deeper… darker, perhaps. He saw a glimmer of light coming from the sitting room. He began to walk cautiously towards the room. "Where are you?" the voice said, "Did you lose your way in the dark?" The last part was said almost as if it were meant to mock Frodo. He entered the room and suddenly a harsh red beacon of hot light burst forth. It pierced through his clothes, flesh, bone, and down to his very soul. Frodo shielded his eyes, and strained to see the source of the light. At the center of the bright beam, was the Eye. It was searching, searching for… something. He knew very well what it searched for. Fear seized him as began to run from the room "You shan't have it! It belongs to me- stay away!" As he ran, the room got larger and darker. It was inescapable. A mist clouded his vision. Then he fell, head first, to the hard cold floor.  
  
Frodo opened his eyes and shot straight up from his bedroll, gripping at the ring that hung on a chain around his neck. Doing so was a mistake he instantly regretted, as waves of icy pain gripped him and shot through his left side, echoing throughout his entire body. He bit back the cries of anguish that wanted to come. The world began to spin, and he collapsed back onto his bedroll. Frodo lay there a few moments trying to catch his breath, chills wracking his small body mercilessly; he looked up into the dark night sky. The stars… they were so… dim. Distant. He almost felt as though he were only looking at a reflection of them in a muddy puddle.  
  
He was so cold. So very cold. Everyone in the company had spared all they could, to ensure that Frodo at least had a chance at staying warm. A pang of guilt stabbed at Frodo's heart as his eyes drifted over to the scantily clad huddled mass of his kinsmen. He pushed the thoughts away. They wanted what was best for him- he knew that. If the effort of talking hadn't been so great, he would have explained to all of them that no amount of blankets could ward off this icy cold that now seized his entire body. Alas, he knew that telling them would have been a terrible waste of his dwindling energy.  
  
His breath began to come in shallow, painful gasps. "It hadn't been this bad before. Had it?" But, he tried to rationalize this sudden change that had come over him, blaming it on the chilly, damp night air. They were nearly 8 days off from Rivendell. The thought of enduring this pain and cold for that much longer made Frodo want to give in to the darkness that was trying its hardest to steal him away. He must not let that happen. He mustn't give in to it.  
  
Without warning, the world around him began to grow darker and darker. Even the murky starlight ceased to exist in his painful world. He saw a dark form approaching him, and just as fear seized him, all went dark.  
  
TBC… 


	2. Chapter II

And In The Darkness Bind Him  
  
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
A/N: Sorry the last chapter was so short. Hopefully, once you guys start reviewing and giving me more ideas, I can make them longer! I'm sure I can. :) Please R/R!  
  
Chapter II  
  
Aragorn sat in deep thought in front of the dying embers of the campfire- afraid to build a larger one for fear of drawing the enemy to their small camp. Watching each embers' warm red glow fade to orange, and then extinguish completely… it was calming, especially after the events of the past week. The week since Weathertop had been very demanding of him. He had been doing a double watch shift every night. Not to mention caring for Frodo. It grieved him to see the ring bearer suffer so. And yet, he could do so little for the hobbit. The Athelas water was always ready and boiling; he always remained with earshot of Frodo- just in case Frodo needed him in the night, as he so often did. The hobbit would take little to drink, and nothing at all to eat.  
  
He knew how much it meant to Frodo to be independent. Not to rely on the care of others. Although in this situation, he really didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Frodo hated to be such a burden to them all. To worry them all so. Aragorn knew this, and so he tried to make it as easy as possible for the ring bearer.  
  
At that moment, he was dragged out of his thoughts by the sounds of what he presumed to be an ensuing struggle. Leaping to his feet, he unsheathed Andúril and rushed off in the direction of the cries. He found Frodo a good ten feet or more away from his bedroll and warm blankets. He was lying on his side curled up, clutching at his neck and crying. Aragorn rushed to his side and placed a warm comforting hand on the ice-cold body of the trembling hobbit.  
  
"Shh Frodo… It's alright, I'm here now. What happened?" Aragorn heard Frodo's shallow raspy breathing, and pity filled his heart. "Strider… he was after me. He was after the Ring. He attacked me… from the shadows, and I was trying to escape…and… I-" Frodo couldn't hold back his tears any longer. He turned his head over and sobbed into Aragorn's lap.  
  
Aragorn stroked the ring bearers' damp limp curls, trying to comfort him, "Frodo, it's alright. You were hallucinating… just calm down now. Shh…" Aragorn waited for Frodo's chills to subside a little before speaking again. "Frodo, you must get back under your blankets now. It is very chilly tonight, and this cold air is no good for anyone. Especially you. Come now, I will carry you." Aragorn rose to his knees and began to lift the hobbit. Frodo cried out in pain, "Please don't Strider! It hurts so much. Let me lie here. Please. Don't move me. I cannot possibly bear it." Frodo's breathing became erratic as he tried to stifle more cries as they began to rise in his throat. Aragorn carefully lowered the weak ring bearer back to the ground. "I'm sorry Frodo. You must stay warm, I'll go fetch your bedroll." Frodo lay on the ground trying to make the world stop spinning in front of him. He reached his right hand up and touched his aching head. "Eight more days of this," he thought, "there's no way…" the darkness took him again before he could finish his thought. Aragorn returned moments later to find Frodo lying motionless on the ground. He bent over Frodo's face feeling for breath. It was there, however, it was hard to detect, much to Aragorn's dismay. He covered and tucked blankets all around the hobbit. "The poor thing," Aragorn thought, "he finally sleeps. Whatever nightmares haunt him in the dark of his dreams of his tormented mind, can't possibly exceed his pain while awake." Still, as Aragorn looked at the faint rise and fall of Frodo's chest, he could not see the hobbit going on like this for eight more days. Although, to have survived thus far, Aragorn knew that the small hobbit held an inner strength that he had not yet revealed.  
  
  
  
TBC…?  
  
  
  
A/N: What did you think? Is it terrible? A disgrace to all fanfics? Should I quit while I'm ahead…err, behind…? Let me know please. :) Any ideas about where I could go from here? Like I said, suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome! :) 


	3. Chapter III

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
A/N: Thank *all* of you so much for the wonderful reviews and encouragement! :) Lotesse, I think you'll be happy to discover that Sam plays a pretty major role in Chapter III. I could never leave dear Sam out of my fic. :) MelodySongSinger, I'll keep going with the fic as long as there's still interest! I like LilyBaggins' idea of going on through to Rivendell. I may very well do that. Please continue to R/R! I love hearing from you guys; it's great. :) Plus, I always need ideas… I want to add depth to the story. I'm working on it. Right now I have a few ideas for some possible 'mini-plots'- if that makes any sense. :)  
  
  
  
Chapter III  
  
"Oh Mister Frodo… I wish so much that you could give your pain to me. Let your Sam bear it for you. I would gladly have jumped between you and the blade of that evil Wraith, had I only been able to see you…" Salty tears trailed their way down Sam's grimy face as he kneeled over the pale, still form of his wounded Master. "Why…" Sam broke off, his voice quavering. "Curse that Ring! Mister Frodo, I know it spoke to you- commanded you to slip it onto your finger. And now… now you're so sick, and… I'm so scared that I'm going to lose you. Please don't die and leave me Master!" Sam put his head in his hands and murmured, "What would your Sam ever do without you?"  
  
Sam felt a large gentle hand clasp his shoulder reassuringly. Aragorn looked down at the hobbit and his sick Master. Samwise was so loyal. Sam would hardly leave his Master's side, save for when exhaustion overcame him and he went to his bedroll and slept briefly. "How is he doing?" inquired Aragorn. Sam looked up at Aragorn. He could see the sorrow and concern written on the Man's face, though Sam knew he tried hard to mask it. "He hasn't moved, Mister Strider, he barely breathes- and he's so very cold to the touch." Sam thought for a moment, trying to decide how to properly phrase his question and harness his emotions. "Is Mister Frodo- what's going to become of him? Will he- he won't die… will he?" Aragorn looked down pityingly on Sam's anxious face. He wanted to tell the lad that everything would fine, and not to worry. Yet, Aragorn knew that he oughtn't lie to the hobbit about the fate of his Master. "There is a chance that Frodo may survive, Sam. However, there is also a chance that he will not." Aragorn paused and looked intently into Sam's tear-filled eyes. "Frodo may become a Wraith, an undead- yet not living- being… just like the vile creature that inflicted this deadly wound upon him." At this, Aragorn stopped and kneeled down, attempting to comfort a distraught Samwise. "Sam, many things will affect the outcome of this trial. Many things we cannot do for Frodo. He must have the strength of mind, heart and body to survive this. He is very strong, Sam. But, there is really very little that we can do to ease Frodo's pain or to increase his chances of survival. He needs all of us to carry on, and give him support." Sam nodded, reaching up to wipe away some of the tears that were streaming down his youthful face. "Come Sam, let Frodo continue to rest. He needs as much of it as he can get, and of it he gets so little." Reluctantly, Sam rose to his feet and headed off towards where breakfast could be smelled cooking.  
  
Merry and Pippin had been out for hours exploring a small patch of woodland surrounding their camp. Their labors had not been fruitless, as when they returned they came bearing mushrooms and various herbs that were suitable for cooking. Samwise recognized this opportunity as a chance to take his mind off of his dear Masters' suffering, and perhaps prepare something that Mister Frodo could eat.  
  
Sam set to work immediately, finely chopping the mushrooms and herbs, boiling the water, and seasoning the soup with a few pinches of salt from the small supply in his little box that he had brought from home. Soon, when all was prepared, Sam tasted the soup. It was quite good, given the circumstances and meager supplies he had to work with. Then Sam thought back on all previous attempts that had been made to get Frodo to eat. Most of them had ended in failure. But this would be different; Frodo loved Sam's mushroom soup. He always had. Sam remembered what Strider had said about making Frodo take some kind of liquids regularly. Frodo would become dehydrated if he did not drink.  
  
With that last thought, Sam set off in the direction of Frodo's bedroll- glass of water, and cup of mushroom soup in hand.  
  
TBC…  
  
A/N: Thanks again for reading, and for giving great reviews! :) I'll try to get another chapter written and uploaded tonight, tomorrow afternoon at the latest. :) 


	4. Chapter IV

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
A/N: I decided last night that whatever 'mini-plots' that I can think up to add to this fic won't affect the outcome of what I originally decided to write about. What I mean by that is that there will still be Glorfindel, and Frodo will still be riding Asfaloth across the Ford, etc. I don't want to make the story so A/U that none of the stuff in the book happens. :) So, I don't know for sure what kind of twists I can weave into my fic… I have been thinking about it though, but I still haven't come up with much of anything. Writers block I guess. :( *sigh*  
  
Moving along, Lotesse, I didn't know that the singular form of the word was ainu. :) I thought it was one of those words like 'sheep' and 'deer' where the spelling doesn't change in singular and plural (I don't know the technical term for it). But thanks for telling me! :) I've always thought that it was a pretty word. :) And Tathar, I'm sure you would do an excellent job with a Weathertop fic in Aragorn's POV! :) Let me know if you ever do write one, I promise I'll R/R!  
  
Sorry it took me so long to get the next chapter uploaded (I know I said that it would be up by yesterday afternoon…), I've just got a crazy schedule... :) thanks for your patience!  
  
And as always, please R/R… constructive criticism and ideas are of course, always welcome! :)  
  
Chapter IV  
  
A sickening smell roused Frodo from his restless sleep. He opened one eye slowly, and quickly shut it. The bright early-morning sunlight made his head throb more than ever, and the warmth of day did nothing to ease the pain and chill within him. Frodo felt a warm, work-worn hand stroking back the curls from his forehead. "Shh… Mister Frodo. It's your dear Sam, he's here now." Frodo nodded weakly, acknowledging Sam's presence. "Now Mister Frodo, you remember what Strider said about you takin' your liquids. I've brought you some nice cool water, and a cup of fresh mushroom soup, the gaffers recipe- and one of your favorites." Frodo recoiled at the thought of eating anything. He knew Sam was right though. Strider had told him to drink as much as he could. The smell of the soup was sickening to Frodo. Sam advanced with the steaming cup of soup, and Frodo shook his head and clenched his mouth shut. "Please Mister Frodo, you must eat," Sam began, but it was too late. With a groan, Frodo rolled onto his side and began heaving. He clutched his right arm around his middle, and closed his eyes tightly. Tears streamed down Frodo's cheeks as the pain in his side escalated with each dry-heave that seized him.  
  
After what seemed like hours of torture to Frodo, the heaving finally diminished into sobs, and eventually back down to the shallow gasps of his breathing. Frodo opened his eyes a little, and through the mist he could see that what little he had had in his stomach, was now lying on the ground in front of him. Frodo tried to push himself over onto his back, but gasped as stabs of icy pain tore through his small body once again.  
  
Sam sat next to his Master, his eyes wide with fear. "Mister Frodo," Sam whispered as he rubbed Frodo's cold right hand soothingly, "what have I done to you?" The long forgotten cup of soup and glass of water lay overturned on the grass. Frodo squeezed Sam's hand lightly and said, "Dearest Sam 'tis no fault of yours. I am sorry that I lost myself just now." Frodo could feel tears beginning to slide down his icy cheeks, he shuddered as he swallowed and realized how raw his throat felt. "Sam… thank you for being here for me. It's so awful, this darkness, the cold and stabbing pain. It gives me no rest, Sam. I'm so weary of it, everything I do causes me such great pain and effort." Frodo paused, "even just breathing, and speaking. I don't know how much longer I can bear this." he sighed shakily. Tears had begun to well up in Sams' eyes. He wished now more than ever that he himself had been able to take the blow of the Morgul knife, rather than his poor Master. Sam couldn't find any words of encouragement for his Master, so he continued to rub Frodo's hand in an attempt to comfort him, and perhaps warm him a little.  
  
At length Sam spoke, "Master, please let me fetch Strider, he will bring Athelas water to bathe your shoulder, and some fresh water for you to drink." Frodo didn't answer, he had already begun to slip back into an unconscious state. Sam got to his feet, and went to find Strider. He muttered under his breath as he walked along, "Mister Frodo don't know what's good for him. Always been stubborn, he has." Sam could feel hot tears beginning to sting his face once more.  
  
Aragorn stood on a hill at the edge of camp gazing down bitterly at the River Hoarwell, watching the mid-morning sunlight dance happily off of the Rivers' surface. They needed to get to Rivendell as quickly as possible for Frodo's sake. He wasn't going to last much longer, if his current condition was anything to go by. Every day they lost was one more day that Frodo had to suffer, and one more day for the wound to work its dark magic on the poor ring-bearer. If only there were a quicker way across the river, or a way that would not force them back onto the road.  
  
"Mister Strider?" Sam interrupted Aragorn's thoughts. "Could you fix up some fresh Athelas water for my Master? He's right sick this mornin' getting worse I fear." Aragorn picked up on the anxious tone in Sam's voice and regarded the hobbit gravely, wondering exactly what Samwise meant. But for the moment Aragorn decided to keep his questions to himself. It would be better if he could assess Frodo's condition for himself, first. "Yes of course Samwise, set some water to boil while I get the Athelas."  
  
When the Ranger returned with the Athelas leaves, he called Sam over to him, "Sam, gather the others and tell them to start packing up camp. We're leaving before noon; we must reach the Last Bridge before tomorrow evening.  
  
TBC….  
  
A/N: I hope that one was a little longer than the others have been. :) Hopefully, if the writer's block goes away, I should have another chapter up by this evening. 


	5. Chapter V

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
A/N: Tangelian Proudfoot, I am honored that my story has found a place among your favorites! :)  
  
  
  
Chapter V  
  
Frodo lay awake on his bedroll inside the shallow cave where the company had made camp for the night. They were two days into this unwelcoming country, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The driving rain and cold air had caused Frodo's pain to double, and sleep would not come to the weary ring-bearer.  
  
Frodo was deep in thought, watching the pale glow of the dying campfire as it reflected off of the moisture-streaked walls of stone. A stray gust of wind swept through the camp, bringing with it sheets of cold rain. Frodo turned his head away from the wind; chills ran down his spine as a familiar dreaded feeling crept over him. He had first felt it nigh on four nights ago, right after his nightmare about the Eye and Bag End. The feeling had been returning again and again, off and on, ever since that night. He vaguely remembered Strider speaking softly to him, and saying that it was just a hallucination, but it was not so. Frodo felt the Shadows; he knew that he was not imagining things. It came without warning, the dark Shadows began to creep upon him, and Frodo could feel them moving all around him. They circled around and around until they had him surrounded. Terror filled Frodo's heart, and froze his voice in his throat. He tried to cry out, it felt as though these shadows were starting at his feet, and moving up his body slowly and agonizingly, inch by inch, freezing everything in their path- stabbing him relentlessly with their foul blades. Then a horrible darkness came over him, and he could remember nothing after that… He knew not how long these fits lasted, but someone was always by his side when he finally regained consciousness. These spells left him drained of all energy, and all desire for everything that creatures of light required for survival, they re-ignited the pain in his wound- as if it had just been dealt. Each time Frodo came to himself, he was surprised to be alive, although he did not know how many more of these horrible fits he could endure before finally giving in to the darkness. They were becoming more frequent with each passing day.  
  
Frodo opened his mouth in a silent gasp, eyes wide with fear and pain, just as an icy grip froze his throat. Then the darkness came once again…  
  
  
  
Aragorn sat on the other side of camp, recalling the scene he had witnessed three days earlier. He had left Sam, and gone to retrieve a few Athelas leaves out of his pack. On his way back, he was shocked to see Frodo sitting rigidly upright, facing East. The air had stilled just then, and Aragorn could feel the presence of a great Shadow within their camp. Then the Rangers' thoughts had drifted back to Sam's comment from earlier that morning, "…he's right sick this mornin', getting worse I fear." At the time Aragorn couldn't fathom why Sam had said such a thing. Frodo hadn't sat up willingly, on his own, in days. How could that be seen as a turn for the worse? But, Aragorn had felt the darkness all about him, soaking up all that was good and light. One fading will, battling against many that were so much stronger. Why had the others not felt it? Perhaps because he had dwelt long in the House of Elrond, and was also of Numenorean descent, maybe his senses were more tuned in to such things.  
  
What perplexed Aragorn most of all, was how he and Sam had gone to Frodo minutes later with the Athelas water, and found him collapsed on the ground gasping for breath- tears staining his pale face. The evil that lay within their camp that day, coupled with Frodo's strange behavior, gave Aragorn inklings as to what may be going on. But the Ranger chose not to entertain such dark thoughts. Aragorn then remembered what Frodo had said in his apparent delirium. That night when they camped near the River Hoarwell, he had heard the sounds of a struggle, and rushed to Frodo's side, "Strider… he was after me. He tried to take the Ring. He attacked me… from the shadows, and I was trying to escape…" Maybe there was more to it than Aragorn had originally thought.  
  
Suddenly, Aragorn looked away from the fire as he felt the Shadow beginning to fill their camp- the darkness was once again trying to overcome the light.  
  
TBC…  
  
  
  
A/N: I got over the writers block finally! :) This chapter was kind of short; I've got to work on making them longer… Hopefully I will have another one up sometime between tomorrow afternoon and evening. :) Thanks for reading! 


	6. Chapter VI

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
A/N: MarigoldG, I know what you mean about missing the sense of Merry and Pippin. I'm going to try to work them into the next chapter though! :)  
  
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Chapter VI  
  
The entities in control of Frodos' body hoisted him into a sitting position, facing East. They proceeded to pull his knees to his chest, and rest his chin on them. The dark Shadows surveyed the horizon carefully as they looked out through Frodo's once bright eyes. The Shadows were drawing their dark forces to Frodo's body, to the Ring. They were calling for reinforcements; the hobbit had been resisting their power for too long now. They must do something soon or risk allowing the Ring to slip from their grasp yet again. He was so weak now that there was a chance they could succeed.  
  
Aragorn walked the length of the cave, until he came to the Eastward facing ledge that Frodo's body was perched on. The Ranger did not speak; he feared that if he interrupted then the Shadows that dwelt within the ring-bearer's incapacitated body might cast Frodo off of the ledge, into the dark rocky ravine below. He listened closely, and he could hear the Shadows that possessed Frodo murmuring words in the Black Speech. Aragorn knew little in that tongue, but he could tell that they were summoning all of their strengths, in an attempt to finally overpower the hobbit. Aragorn hesitated a moment, weighing the consequences of his next action. If he didn't try to rouse Frodo from this trance, then Frodo could lose what little ground he had left, and perish. The Ring would be whisked away to Mordor, and all would be lost. If he advanced, and the Shadows used Frodo's body as a portal to channel their strength and evil through, then he himself could be overpowered by them… Aragorn could feel the silent battle raging before him; Frodo was trying his hardest to push the darkness out of his mind and body. Alas they were too many, and he was too weak. The Ranger made his decision with lightening quickness, and lunged at Frodo's body, grasping the ring-bearer around his small waist, and hauling him away from the ledge.  
  
Aragorn carried a limp and unconscious Frodo back to the camp, hoping that the dark spirits within him had been expelled after having been discovered and interrupted. Aragorn did not hold out much hope for Frodo's survival at this point though. He was not breathing, and his lips were blue, his skin was like ice. Sam stood over Aragorn's shoulder. "Mister Strider?" Sam sobbed, "What's happening to my master? Why isn't he breathing?" Sam reached out to feel his Master's brow, and quickly withdrew from the coldness of it. Aragorn looked down at Sam, "Samwise, I am not exactly sure of what just happened. Frodo was fighting a battle within himself. The wound Frodo received at Weathertop has apparently begun to act as a gateway for the Shadows and darkness- Sauron's forces. The Morgul Knife introduced the poison to your Masters body, and has been weakening him ever since- waiting for it's chance to overpower him. He is now weak enough for the darkness to seep in and work with the poison of the Morgul Knife. Together they are working to make him to succumb to the darkness- to become a Wraith. Frodo fought hard, and he is very strong, but he is no match for them- especially in his condition. I do not believe that the darkness has won yet. But I can't be sure." Aragorn was careful not to let Sam hear fear in his voice; he didn't want the hobbit to panic.  
  
After Aragorn finished speaking, the only sounds that could be heard were the noises of Merry and Pippin's light snoring, and the dripping of water inside the small cave. The seconds seemed to drag by like hours as Sam and Aragorn sat by Frodo's side, hoping that he would wake.  
  
The heavy silence that had settled between the hobbit and the Ranger was broken by a cry. Frodo tried to raise himself to his elbows, but fell back to the ground trying to catch his breath, and nearly knocked the wind out of himself. He gasped in pain as Sam lurched forward to embrace him and accidentally jarred Frodo's wounded shoulder. "Oh Master! I'm so sorry I was not there with you… please forgive your Sam. I feared you dead. And, well, I am just so glad you're not!" Tears of happiness rolled down Sam's cheeks.  
  
Frodo had broken out in a cold sweat; he blinked several times, trying to clear away the mist in front of his eyes. It had become thicker than it had ever been before. Frodo looked up at Sam and opened his mouth to speak. He was confused by Sam's reaction to his waking, and by what he had said before. "Don't try to speak Mister Frodo, just rest, you've been through an awful lot this evening. I'm here with you. Mister Strider is boiling more Athelas water, he'll be back in a few minutes." Frodo nodded and closed his eyes, for he was very tired. He wondered what had happened. One second he was lying on the cold cave floor… and then he had felt that awful blackness come on him again. The next thing Frodo knew, he was lying next to the campfire with Sam and Aragorn kneeling on either side of him. Frodo began to shiver, and Sam piled blankets on him. "Thank you Sam… I- I'm so very cold." Frodo knew the blankets would only help to a certain degree, but he didn't speak of it to Sam- it would only worry the poor hobbit more. Frodo winced as he shifted under the blankets. His whole body ached as if horses had trampled him. He wondered what had happened to him while he had been unconscious. Every time the darkness overcame Frodo he could feel that the life had been sapped from his body. His shoulder throbbed, and his vision blurred, looking upon the light of the campfire caused him great pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to focus on something other than the pain. Sam could tell that his Master was hurting and leant down and kissed Frodo's cold forehead and spoke soothingly to him, "Shh Mister Frodo, hang in there. Your Sam's here for you. Rest now."  
  
Aragorn returned with the steaming Athelas water. Frodo tried to stifle a cry as the steaming wet cloth came in contact with his aching shoulder; he gripped Sam's hand tightly with his own. Aragorn spoke to the sick ring- bearer, "It's alright Frodo, just give the Athleas a few minutes to work. Calm down and try to get some sleep. Sam and I will take turns sitting with you, so you won't be alone. Hang in there, Frodo." Frodo nodded, and tried to relax. He could feel his breaths beginning to come easier as he inhaled the pleasant scent of the Atlehas water. But Frodo's thoughts kept drifting back to the Ring. He brought his right hand up to his neck slowly, and clasped his hand around the Ring that lay there on a chain. Frodo had almost begun to embrace the darkness when it came; he knew no pain when he was possessed by it. All of his cares were forgotten… but it was so awful when he finally did come out of it. It was almost as if the darkness was teasing him. Tempting him to give in to it. Promising him a painless carefree existence. And yet he fought it, he was well aware of the empty promises that evil often presented. He knew he must hold on to life and bear the pain and cold for as long as it took, he only doubted his physical strength and ability to hold out. Frodo knew that if he did not give in to it willingly, it would eventually take him by force.  
  
Frodo felt someone holding a cup to his lips; he took a few swallows of the cool water, and then drifted into an uneasy sleep.  
  
Strider could tell by the sound of Frodo's breathing, that the Athelas had helped him some. The ring-bearer was now resting, as peacefully as could be expected. Sam moved closer to his beloved Master, and stroked Frodo's brown curls softly. Tears threatened to come to Sam's eyes, "Mister Strider?" Sam questioned shakily. Aragorn heard the tone of Sam's voice, and replied as gently as possible, "What is it Samwise?" Sam swallowed and asked, "My Master… he's going to… die, isn't he?" Sam couldn't believe he was asking such a question. But he was beginning to doubt what Aragorn had said a few days earlier.  
  
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A/N: I hope that chapter was a little longer than the others have been. :) Thanks for reading! 


	7. Chapter VII

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
A/N: Ally, thank you for the review! I'm glad you like the story. :) I haven't written any other fanfics yet, but I probably will. :) And, also a huge thanks to everyone else that reads and/or reviews! :)  
  
Chapter VII  
  
  
  
The next day dawned more pleasant than the previous two had. The rain that had hindered the company's travel came to an end; and a bright blue sky was beginning to peek out through the dark clouds. While the terrain was still harsh, and made for difficult walking, it was far more pleasant than walking in the rain.  
  
Frodo was especially happy with the change in the weather. The painful chill that gripped him had eased up a bit as the sun began to return; he lay out in it for a little while that morning, basking in its warmth. He had even managed to have a small serving of bread and soup for breakfast. The entire company was relived to see him eat something, as it was the first time he'd eaten in longer than a hobbit should go without. Sam was particularly overjoyed by this change in his Master's condition. Although, he watched Frodo like a mother hen in any case; fearing the Shadows would return and he wouldn't be by his Master's side to help him through it.  
  
Aragorn had gone out scouting earlier that morning. He wanted to determine which direction their path would lead them in next. The Ranger was pleased with the ring-bearers improved condition, but he knew it was only temporary; and because of that Aragorn was anxious to reach Rivendell. Due to the nature of Frodo's wound, it was not possible for him to simply recover on his own, without the help of some higher power. During his years in the House of Elrond, Aragorn had learned some about the ways of healing. Often it happened that a patient would appear to be well, and then take a turn for the worse; which if not watched closely, could prove to be fatal.  
  
Merry had exhibited a great deal of concern for Frodo. They had been dear friends for as long as Merry could remember, and he hated to see Frodo suffering so. Merry was just as overjoyed as the others were at the return of Frodo's appetite and his seeming recovery. He decided to breakfast with Frodo, and attempt to reminisce a little- hoping to cheer Frodo up and give him something to hold on to. "Frodo," Merry stated, grinning like no tomorrow, "Do you remember that day in the Shire, one summer many years ago- when I was just a lad, how we snuck into Blanco Hornblowers Pipe Weed shed and stole a whole rack of leaves? He never did find out who took it! The fun we had!" Merry finished, his voice filled with mirth. Frodo couldn't help but smile. He was glad to see Merry so jolly once more; Frodo knew that his friend had been concerned for his safety and well-being lately. Frodo shifted a little beneath his blankets, trying not to give in to the weariness that had suddenly begun to overcome him. He cleared his throat and spoke, "Oh my dearest Merry how could I ever forget?" Frodo smiled weakly, "We certainly did have him going 'round in circles for days didn't we!" Frodo could sense that Merry knew he had forced the smile. Merry glanced sidelong at his friend, and then relaxed his smile into a straight face. "Frodo, are you alright? I don't want you to overexert yourself…" Frodo interrupted Merry before he could continue, he knew where things were headed, "I am quite alright Merry," Frodo lied, "I'm just a little weary of the Sun, nothing more." He forced another smile. Merry jumped up, "Well then, let me assist you!" Frodo started to shake his head, "No Merry, I-". Merry ignored Frodo's protest, and started to lift his friend, blankets and all, to move him into the shade of a nearby tree. Frodo winced as Merry lifted him from the ground; he hoped Merry hadn't noticed.  
  
Merry had taken note of Frodo's discomfort, and he had also heard the note of weariness in his friends' voice- but did not speak of it. Instead, he went to Sam. "Sam, did Strider leave any of those Athelas leaves out of his pack before he left?" Sam paled a shade, "Yes Mister Merry, why do you ask?" Merry was careful of how he spoke, knowing that Sam was very protective of Frodo and allowing the entire truth to be known would surely only cause the poor hobbit more anxiety. "Oh, 'tis nothing, he just wants to rest a wee bit before we start off today, and the Athelas would help him to relax." Merry finished, trying to mask his concern with a tiny smile. Sam wasn't quite convinced, but quickly boiled the Athelas water and tended his Master. Frodo was grateful for the Athelas treatment, but wondered how Sam knew that the dull ache was beginning to strengthen again in his shoulder.  
  
The hobbits found themselves waiting for another hour before Aragorn finally returned to the camp. His face was drawn with worry and regret. "We must head back South," he ordered, "If we stay our course as it is now we will eventually reach the Ettendales, and that is a strange land to me. Troll country, it is." The Ranger sighed as he looked at the hobbits' faces, he felt as though they surely thought that he was ever the bearer of bad news. Aragorn noticed the pained expression that had returned to Frodo's fair face. He walked over to the ring-bearer and felt his pale cheek. "Cold as ice." Thought Aragorn. He scolded himself inwardly; this delay could cost them severely. "How are you feeling Frodo?" Frodo thought for a moment, he knew that he couldn't lie to the Ranger; but he didn't want to be completely honest either. "I… 'Tis nothing, really. I'm just a little tired, that's all. I didn't sleep well at all last night." Frodo sighed, but he was forced to cut it short as a sharp stab of pain shot through his left side. Aragorn frowned gently, deciding not to tell Frodo the whole truth as to why he hadn't slept. Apparently the ring-bearer didn't remember much, if anything, from the awful night they had all had. Aragorn decided that it would probably be best if Frodo weren't told. "I would think not. You were quite ill, Frodo." Aragorn stood up and surveyed the horizon. He guessed by the sun that it must be nearly noon. "We must be off as soon as possible. We need to get as far along as we can before we make camp tonight."  
  
When all was made ready, Aragorn went to Frodo. "Frodo I know you're hiding something from me- but speak not of it now. I'm sure it will reveal itself in time. You don't feel as well as you lead us all to believe." Frodo looked surprised, and then frowned, thinking "Am I really that bad at hiding my pain?" He spoke up, as if to prove that he was indeed feeling well, and asked, "Strider, I wish to ride Bill alone today. He has been carrying an extra mount for too long… he deserves a break from such a load- especially in these hills." Frodo forced a smile. Aragorn surveyed Frodo carefully, a little surprised at the hobbits stubbornness and determination, "If… if you think you can manage it, Frodo. But you must let me know if you become too weary. It would not do for you to fall off!" Frodo almost regretted Aragorn allowing him to ride alone, as he felt the weariness increasing rapidly, beginning overcoming him. But he smiled anyway and replied, "Thank you, Strider."  
  
Aragorn lifted the ring-bearer carefully, and sat him upon Bill the pony. The Ranger then left Frodo, and went to gather his own pack. He had been gone only a few minutes when Frodo felt an unexpected spell of dizziness come upon him. He swayed and started to slide from Bill's back, and hit the ground with a cry. Sam, who had been feeding Bill bits of tender grass, rushed to his Master's side. "Mister Frodo!" Sam cried, "Are you alright?" Frodo groaned, and winced as he felt that the pain in his shoulder had returned. "Y- Yes… Sam, I'll be fine." Sam raised Frodo to his knees, but stopped as Frodo cried out in pain, and fell back to the ground. "No! No… Sam, please. I'm fine." Frodo gasped, "Get Strider, please. He… he will help me… back onto Bill." Frodo tried to smile reassuringly. Sam looked doubtfully at his Master, noticing how Frodo had paled even further since his fall. Frodo's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts, "Sam… Go, please. Now. Tell Strider to hurry." Frodo winced as the cold feeling returned to his feet, moving up his legs, and he began to breathe heavily. Merry rushed to Frodo's side, and was distraught as he saw the tears in Frodo's wide eyes. Eyes that were so haunted by pain and fear. "Frodo?" Merry questioned. Frodo's breathing rate increased dramatically, and then, without warning, it stopped altogether. Frodo never even heard Merry's question; the Shadows had already possessed his mind and body.  
  
Pippin dropped the apple he was eating, and ran to his cousin's side. He gasped as he saw the blue tint of Frodo's skin, and felt the icy cold of his cousin's hands. "Merry?" Pippin asked, his voice quaking, "What's going on?" Before Merry could answer, Frodo's eyes flew open… and he began gasping for breath. "Frodo!" Pippin nearly shouted, "Oh cousin, what happened? Are you alright?" Frodo lay on the ground with his eyes closed, trying take in air, but gasping as though none at all were coming to him.  
  
At the same time, Sam returned with Aragorn and the Athelas water. The Ranger bent over Frodo and spoke gently as he stroked back the limp curls from the ring-bearers cold clammy forehead, "Frodo, what happened?" Frodo just shook his head. He wasn't able to speak, and even if he had been able to he couldn't have told anyone what had just happened to him- for he did not know.  
  
Aragorn peeled back the layers of clothes and blankets in which the hobbit was wrapped; in order to bathe his wounded shoulder with the Athelas water. Frodo reached his right hand up weakly in protest. The Ranger forced it back to the ground, with little effort, and began to administer the Athelas treatment to Frodo's shoulder. Frodo groaned, and tried to pull away, but was held in place by Merry and Sam. Tears streamed down the ring-bearers face as the dark magic in his wounded shoulder fought the power of the Athelas water, causing the hobbit immense pain. Frodo clamped his mouth shut and swallowed hard, trying to stifle his cries. Within a few minutes, Frodo's breathing returned to the usual gasps, and his breaths sounded as if they were coming easier, and he appeared to have drifted off.  
  
Aragorn finished tending Frodo, and rose to his feet. "We must go now. Traveling while he is unconscious will be easier for Frodo, and he will feel less pain." The Ranger paused, and then decided, "Pippin, you will ride behind Frodo in the saddle, to ensure that he does not fall off." Pippin nodded dutifully, and climbed aboard the pony behind his sick cousin, locking his arms securely around Frodo's waist. "My poor dear cousin!" Pippin said, tears still staining his rosy cheeks, "I'm so sorry you're ill Frodo…don't worry though, I shan't let you fall." Pippin reached up and stroked Frodo's damp curls before they started on their day's journey.  
  
A/N: I'll try to have the next chapter up by tomorrow afternoon! Thanks for reading! :) 


	8. Chapter VIII

A/N: LillyBaggins, thank you so much for taking time to read my fic and give me some pointers! I'm so happy that you're enjoying it. :) I see what you mean about the "Hang in there." idiom, I try to be careful not to include things such as that, but I guess I must have missed that one. I also spent some time with the thesaurus; hopefully it will make a difference in this chapter. I promise to cut out some of the "running to Frodo's side" stuff. :) I don't want to cut all of it out though, because I hate to see him suffering and no one comes to help. :( But I agree that too much is no good either. :)  
  
Arien, I think I'm growing more comfortable with it too. It is a lot easier to write now than it was on the first few chapters. :)  
  
And I thank *all* of you who have reviewed! It means so much to me. :) You guys are great! Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, I just seem to stay so busy. *Sigh* I guess it's better to be busy than have nothing to do at all! :)  
  
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Chapter VIII  
  
  
  
Frodo woke with a start, nearly falling from Bill's saddle. "Steady now Frodo! Careful, or you'll fall and take me down with you!" Pippin exclaimed, half surprised, and half relieved to see that his cousin was finally stirring.  
  
Frodo glanced all about him, trying to recall what had happened earlier- and where he was now. He remembered toppling from Bill… and then Aragorn and Sam were standing over him, though he couldn't remember why. His shoulder was very painful; it felt as though it had been crushed beneath a fallen tree. Aragorn was cleaning it carefully with a strip of cloth soaked in Athelas water… and then Frodo had lost consciousness.  
  
The ring-bearer allowed his weary head to fall into his hands. His head ached. He wanted to escape the bright light of day; he wanted to escape this painful existence that had become his reality. He wished Bilbo had been there with him, Bilbo would have comforted and reassured him. Frodo admonished himself for being so immature and selfish- he was a grown hobbit… and Bilbo was very old… "*I* ought to be the one taking care of *him*." Frodo thought morosely. He groaned as he felt Bill misstep, jarring his wounded shoulder slightly.  
  
Frodo jumped as a warm hand clasped his right shoulder, rubbing it gingerly. "Where… are we? What time is it?" Frodo muttered wearily, "Have we… much further to go before we reach Rivendell?" Pippin swallowed hard, hearing the pain and anxiety in his cousins' voice, knowing that he could not give Frodo the answers he wanted to hear. "I'm not certain of where we are, Strider says that we are still at least three days out from Rivendell. It is early evening now; you have been passing in and out of awareness all day. How are you feeling, my beloved cousin?" Pippin finished, his heart filled with pity and despair as he looked upon the slumped form of his languid cousin.  
  
Frodo couldn't remember being conscious at all during the day. He thought for a moment, deciding how open he wanted to be with his cousin, "I- I'm so cold, Pippin, and it's so dark. I cannot see very-" Frodo was cut off as a cry of anguish escaped his lips, Bill had stepped on another rock. The path ahead of them was strewn with rocks as far as Frodo could see. The ring- bearer rubbed his stinging eyes, trying to clear the ever-thickening mist that obscured his vision. "I- I feel so completely wretched, Pippin." Frodo finished softly, as he felt his stomach churning and twisting. He wrapped his uninjured arm around his belly. The irregular, jerking movements of Bill's path-picking was starting to get to him.  
  
Pippin and Frodo rode on in silence; save for Bill's occasional snort and the swooshing of the pony's tail. Frodo, who had been focusing on not becoming ill and losing his breakfast, leaned over onto Bill's strong neck trying to steady himself as waves of nausea and dizziness suddenly began to assail him. "Frodo?" Pippin questioned, apprehension in his voice, "You look as though you're going to be sick. Should I get Strider?" Frodo shook his head no, and turned his face away, closing his eyes tightly. He tried to be brave and not let anyone know how much pain he was in; he was such a burden to them all as it was. He oughtn't worry them more than he already had. "I've already been enough of a nuisance today. I'll not let my weak stomach get the better of me and allow it to halt our progress!" Frodo decided. Suddenly a stabbing pain shot through Frodo's head, and his vision blurred. He gave a cry and started sliding from Bill's back…  
  
Pippin held Frodo's head up, stroking the sweat soaked curls out of his cousins' eyes, as he lay on the ground retching. The younger hobbit offered a hand as the ring-bearer groped about for something to take hold of. Pippin nearly winced as Frodo's grip tightened. He was astonished at how strong the ailing hobbit's hold was.  
  
Tears welled in Frodo's eyes, every heave felt as though it twisted the icy, sinister knives that tormented him. He squeezed the hand that was holding his own, trying to will the pain to go away. Frodo gulped for air between each painful spasm, trying to gain control over himself.  
  
Pippin rubbed Frodo's back and spoke soothingly, trying to calm the poor hobbit. "Shh Frodo… Just try to calm down; it'll all be ended shortly. Easy now, cousin." Frodo could not hear Pippins's words. He felt naught but the pain, and saw only dim, murky light through his mist-shrouded vision.  
  
At last, when the spell had passed, Pippin gently turned Frodo onto his back. The hobbit looked into his cousins' tear filled eyes, searching for any hint of recognition. There was none there… Frodo was not himself. The older hobbits eyes looked unseeingly at Pippin- almost through him. Pippin felt Frodo's sweat covered brow, he resisted the urge to pull away from the coldness of it. The older hobbits body started trembling violently from the cold that had suddenly begun to grow within it.  
  
The very last thing Frodo saw was the foliage of the tree's that grew above the rock-strewn trail he was lying in. His eyes closed as the pain intensified and the cold ravaged his small body.  
  
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A vicious roaring sound filled the air. Bitterly cold gusts of wind pounded anything and everything in their path; and tore at garments and flesh. Frodo opened his eyes and peered out into the gloom. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and was astounded to find that his left arm was movable, and there was no ache lingering in his shoulder. "Where am I?" he wondered aloud, his voice was carried away by the wind. It howled and tore at his clothes persistently. "Hello!", Frodo cried frantically; panic was beginning to set in. "I suppose I have died, and this is what death is like." Frodo sighed, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes came into focus and he saw them all around him. Dark, winged shapes swirled around, stealing his breath, using the wind-gusts as invisible whips- tearing his clothes, bruising his fair skin, lashing out at him from every direction. They mocked Frodo in the Black Speech; he could understand their words- although he knew not what tongue they spoke in.  
  
Frodo threw himself to the ground, trying to escape their dreadful gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget their unsightly appearance. He curled into a ball, trying to evade their terrible whips. He covered his ears, trying to block out their malicious words. They spoke of what wickedness was to come, how he would fail a task that would be appointed to him, and they would torment him for all eternity. His journey would be in vain; all would come to ruin. He would be forever bound in the darkness of their lands, in the East.  
  
Although Frodo did not know what they spoke of, he refused to let them tell him how things would or would not be. "Waste not your words on me, fell creatures! I shan't ever give in to you- or this darkness!" Just as the last word left his mouth, the wind ceased. Before Frodo could begin to speculate about what had happened, he doubled over in pain. It felt as though someone had just delivered him a swift kick in the side with a steel- toed boot.  
  
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Frodo's eyes flew open, and he drew a shuddering breath. The hobbit panicked, wondering where he was, and what had happened to the others… He forced himself to calm down, as he realized that he had been positioned carefully beneath a heap of blankets. He could hear Sam's soft snores coming from another spot on the ground, not too far away from him. Frodo felt the blankets piled atop him, and he was glad of it. The blankets kept some of the chill out of his body, and warded away most of the chilly night air. He lay there quietly for a few moments; he could hear the peaceful night noises, the gentle evening breeze stirring the pine trees that enclosed the campsite. He could just barely make out a few points of light spread out among the dark, velvety background of the serene night sky… the stars. Frodo sighed- had it all been his imagination…? No. He remembered the events of the day as they came flooding back to him. It had been that dreadful darkness again… the Shadows had come to him. It hadn't been a dream at all. Frodo wondered how it was that he had remembered the encounter- they had never been like that before. They were always peaceful; all he could remember about them was the darkness, and the fact that he felt no pain.  
  
He cringed in fear, thinking that they were surely hunting him at that very moment. How could he ever escape? The Shadows sensed that the company was drawing near Rivendell; they were planning to take him in the next few days. Frodo could feel it. They were coming to take back what was theirs.  
  
The ring-bearer shifted uneasily under his blankets, he couldn't get comfortable. Frodo felt twinges of soreness returning to his injured shoulder. He whimpered in pain as he felt an unseen force trampling his mid- section once again. Frodo panicked, remembering it as the same feeling from earlier. His breathing became labored as the pain began to increase rapidly. Soon breathing became too painful, and Frodo gave in to the darkness that was closing in on him.  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) I hope to have the next chapter up in a day or so. 


	9. Chapter IX

A/N: First I just have to say thanks again for the great reviews, everyone! :)  
  
Lotesse & LilyBaggins, I'm terribly sorry that I confused you two! I didn't mean to. :)  
  
Lotesse, Thanks for the compliment! I'm glad you like my fic. :) I hope I was more descriptive about the weather and scenery in this chapter than I have been in previous ones! :) And about the steel-toed boot: I used it as a way of describing the feeling of being kicked. Steel-toed boots are pretty hard; I wanted to convey the intensity of the 'kick'. Frodo never actually saw a steel-toed boot, although I know I did imply that a Wraith had indeed kicked him. The creatures I described here: "Frodo sighed, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes came into focus and he saw them all around him. Dark, winged shapes swirled around, stealing his breath, using the wind-gusts as invisible whips- tearing his clothes, bruising his fair skin, lashing out at him from every direction." He didn't see Wraiths; those creatures were the Wraiths' 'minions'. They were the 'Shadows' I've mentioned in other chapters; and the 'darkness' is the Wraith world- which is something that Frodo slips in and out of from time to time during my fic. Frodo wasn't *actually* being kicked or trampled by anyone; I related the pain he felt to the pain one would feel after being delivered "a swift kick in the side with a steel- toed boot". The feeling actually came from the 'changes' his body goes through during the process of becoming a Wraith. It comes up again in this chapter too, just under different circumstances. :)  
  
LilyBaggins, I do intend to continue the fic through his treatment in Rivendell. :)  
  
Estel, you are exactly right! I can't believe no one had pointed it out to me before. :) I hadn't intended on making it a movieverse fic. I can't believe I didn't realize my mistake when I was writing. Thanks for pointing it out though; I might not ever have noticed it! :) And, I'm so glad you like my fic. :)  
  
Elwen, I agree that 'languid' doesn't look right. I looked up the definition, and thought about it for a while. I almost didn't use the word, but I used it for lack of a better one- I suppose. :)  
  
Mindel, I'm so glad you like it! :) I know what you mean about being really busy. That's why my updates have been so slow- I've been so busy! :) lol.  
  
Shirebound, thankyou for the compliment! I'll get Frodo to Rivendell as soon as I can. ;)  
  
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Chapter IX  
  
Frodo stumbled along the rocky terrain tiredly, one foot in front of the other. He was obliged to walk along with the rest of the company because there was no path to speak of- certainly not one fit for Bill to carry a rider on. Frodo was almost relieved that he didn't have to ride Bill, although walking cost him a lot of energy and caused him to lag behind everyone else, he preferred it to Bill's jostling gait. Of course, Frodo knew that it wasn't Bill's fault. The pony just wasn't accustomed to carrying a rider across such rocky uneven ground, and besides that, the slightly bumpy ride might not have been so unpleasant had the circumstances been different for Frodo.  
  
He was relieved that the land was at least sloping *downwards*- and gently at that! Frodo didn't think he would have been able to climb down steep rocky ledges, or scramble across boulder-strewn gullies for very long. Strider had told the hobbits earlier that they were back on course, and would be traveling on the Road again before long.  
  
The continuation of agreeable weather made the journey easier on all of them. No cloud could be seen in the pale blue sky, and a gentle, warm breeze was blowing up from the South. The sun shone down bright and encouragingly onto the weary company. It lifted their spirits, and gave them hope. Warm rays from the sun soothed their insides, drying out all of the dampness and stiffness from the days that had been spent in the unpleasant, rainy country. Driving away their fears, and helping them to cast aside their doubts. Even Frodo had woken that morning feeling better than he had the previous evening. His sides still ached from the mysterious ordeal that he had been through the night before, but he hadn't spoken of it to anyone.  
  
The ring-bearer fell a bit further behind the others; he wanted to see what it was that had caused him so much pain earlier. Frodo glanced up; making sure no one was watching him. They were all far enough ahead now to where they wouldn't be able to see what he was doing. Frodo used his right arm to carefully move his cloak aside, and lifted his shirt up just a tiny bit, exposing a little skin. He stopped walking, and looked closely at his front, there were no bruises, no marks of any kind that he could see. He used the palm of his hand to apply a small amount of pressure to the affected area. He winced in pain as the agonizing feeling from earlier returned- an unseen force, torturing him mercilessly, kicking and tearing at his insides, waging a war within his body. Frodo stood unmoving for a moment, hunched over as his features twisted in agony. He didn't want to chance anyone else seeing his pain when it could be avoided. The sick hobbit tried to concentrate on breathing: slowly and carefully, in and out, waiting for the spell to pass.  
  
At last, when Frodo felt able, he stood up and looked forward, trying to make his eyes focus properly. He could see that everyone else had stopped a ways ahead. It looked as though they were preparing the mid-day meal. He continued on his way at his own pace, going to meet them.  
  
Frodo gasped in astonishment as he drew closer to where the others stood. "Trolls!" he nearly yelled. He hadn't seen them from far off but, sure as the sun rises, there they stood now! "I know where we are now…" thought Frodo, judging by the map in his head "This must be where Bilbo, the dwarves and Gandalf met the three trolls, so many long years ago! We are in about the right place I suppose." The trolls were nestled in a grove of tall trees, their leaves turning gold and orange from the nippy mid-October mornings. Frodo suspected that the trolls had gone largely unnoticed throughout the years, forgotten by the world, frozen in place for all the ages to come, until they were worn down into small rocks and grains of sand. Even in their stone form, the trolls still appeared menacing to the small hobbit, who stood there before them, but a fraction of their height.  
  
"Hello, Mister Frodo!" Sam chirped cheerily, chewing on a piece of dried tomato as he leaned against one of the large stone calves of a troll. Frodo smiled wanly at his loyal servant, not wanting to disappoint him, "Hello Sam, can you tell where we are? These are the very same three trolls that nearly cooked Bilbo and the dwarves!" Frodo finished; his voice quiet, but nonetheless filled excitement and awe.  
  
"Well I reckon I do, Mister Frodo! I only heard the story a hundred or more times..." Sam smiled warmly. "Dear old Bilbo really did have the best stories of anyone in the whole Shire."  
  
"You're right Sam. Bilbo certainly did have the best tales to tell. Oh, the things he saw and did! What adventures he had…" Frodo reminisced. He missed his dear Uncle Bilbo now more than ever. He wished Bilbo had been able to be there and see these things with him, and in happier times.  
  
"Mister Frodo, what do you feel up to eating?" Sam interrupted Frodo's thoughts, "Strider's caught us a right decent coney- I cooked it up real nice, and I've still got some dried tomatoes. Master Pippin's even got a bit of apple butter to go with it. You wait here just a moment, and I'll go fix you up a nice plate!" Sam finished excitedly, "Now don't you go anywhere Mister Frodo, you're getting too thin around the middle to suite me. Not proper at all for a hobbit!" and he was off before Frodo could protest. Frodo stood there for a moment; the thought of food didn't please him too much. The way his insides felt, he didn't want to think about what might happen if he tried to put something in his stomach.  
  
Sam returned shortly with a plate piled high with roasted coney, dark red dried tomatoes, delicious smelling apple butter, and a steaming cup of herb tea. "Now you eat this all up, Mister Frodo. Strider said that this tea ought to help with the pain in your poor shoulder- not to mention warm your insides a bit!"  
  
"No thank you Sam, I'm really not hungry." Frodo stated simply. "But Mister Frodo, you must eat!" Tears began to build in Sam's eyes. "Sam, thank you kindly for this lovely food. I'm afraid I just can't bear the thought of having to eat."  
  
"Well Mister Frodo, are you feeling all right? At least, as all right as can be expected, if you get my meaning. Is there anything I can get for you?" Sam questioned appealingly.  
  
Frodo looked into Sam's face apologetically, "No Sam. I am afraid there is not, I must get to Rivendell. Then, perhaps, I will be all right..."  
  
"Well alright then, Mister Frodo, but you *must* at least drink all of your tea. Strider gathered all of the herbs himself- said it was important that you took all of it." The younger hobbit persisted.  
  
Frodo sighed, "I promise I'll drink it, Sam, don't fret. It wouldn't do to be dishonest with you!" The ring-bearer chuckled, smiling at his anxious friend. Frodo winced as he felt twinges of pain spreading across his sides and middle, brought on by his chuckling, an icy knife twisted in his left shoulder. He started to lift his shirt again, to see what was the matter, but he remembered that Sam was still watching him.  
  
"Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, not trying to hide his concern. He had seen the pained expression that had crossed his Masters face a moment before.  
  
"I-" Frodo stopped, trying to catch his breath, as he felt another sharp stab of pain. He tried to mask it quickly, before Sam noticed, "I'll be fine Sam, I promise. You go on and eat. I'm going to sit down here and drink my tea, then I'll be on over to talk with everyone else." Frodo finished, with what he hoped was a smile.  
  
Sam smiled shakily, and turned on his heel, heading back to where everyone else was eating lunch. Frodo sighed with relief. He was very thankful that Sam was not onto him. They should reach Rivendell in two days or less. "I can make it." Frodo thought, "It's not that much further. I've endured this long, there's no need to worry them all more when we're so close to the end of our journey."  
  
Frodo raised the cup to his lips, blowing on the tea a little before he attempted to take a sip. He drank a mouthful, surprised at its unusually pleasant taste. The hobbit then proceeded to sit himself upon a nearby rock with a flat surface, and continue drinking his tea. Frodo winced as he bent over and the pain in his sides grew, and the bitter knife in his shoulder dug a little deeper.  
  
The just outside dell where the stone trolls stood; there was a view of the Eastern horizon. Frodo sat on the rock, looking out across the sky, his eyes resting on the peaks of the Misty Mountains off in the distance. "I wish…" Frodo began, "No... wishing will do me no good now." He sighed, and took another swallow of the tea.  
  
  
  
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"Mister Strider, I *still* don't quite understand what's wrong. The wound was small; it is healed now. Why is my master so ill?" Sam carried on.  
  
"Samwise, I've explained this to you before. I understand that you are concerned for Frodo's well being, as are we all, but there isn't anything more that you or I- or Merry or Pippin- can do for him at this time. It is true that his wound has healed, but there is magic inside of his body, Sam. Dark, evil magic. The poison of the enemy."  
  
"Why is he always in such pain though Strider? What does it-" Sam continued tirelessly.  
  
Aragorn sighed audibly; he was well aware of the ring-bearers state- and equally aware that there was nothing he could do to help the poor hobbit. "It is the dark magic working, Sam, his shoulder and hand are being affected by the Morgul Blades' poison." Aragorn finished.  
  
"No, Mister Strider, not that. I saw him just a short while ago- more ails him than he lets on. He always has been stubborn; don't know what's good for 'im- as I've said many a time! My gaffer always said, 'It's always the- "  
  
"What are you speaking of Sam?" Aragorn interrupted, cocking an ear. "Of course you are aware that the Shadows have been working their hardest to overcome your Master, torturing him in waking and in sleep, hurling him into their world unexpectedly and with force. If there is something else that you are aware of, Sam, you must tell me. Whatever it is, knowing about it may be vital to your Master's survival."  
  
Sam hesitated a moment, it was obvious to him that Frodo had tried to conceal whatever it was that was bothering him. He knew that his Master was a private hobbit, he did not wish for pity, or to disrupt the lives of others on account of his own suffering. "Well, Mister Strider, I oughtn't tell, but I know the gravity of the situation. I saw him trying to hide it, but he's never been able to hide anything from his dear Sam. It's his sides, or stomach- his mid-section in general. He was clearly favoring it today when I took him his meal a short while ago, he wouldn't eat. Said something about not being able to stand the thought of eating- but I told him he had better drink the tea, seeing as how you gathered all those herbs for it, and it would help his shoulder. My master never has been much on food, though. But something isn't quite right, if you ask me."  
  
Aragorn had been listening intently to Sam's ramblings, picking out the useful bits of information. The symptoms Sam was describing were not distinctive characteristics of any particular illness. Frodo hadn't had any appetite to speak of since Weathertop. But, if he was having severe pain in his sides or stomach, then something was definitely wrong. Frodo hadn't taken a fall that Aragorn knew of, so it couldn't be an internal injury… It was definitely something to do with the forces that were working against the ring-bearer. They had a day and a half, a little less perhaps- if the nice weather held out, before they reached Rivendell. They were too close now to lose Frodo to the Wraith world. Too close to lose all that they were working so hard to save.  
  
Aragorn thought for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "Sam, go fetch your master for me, if you will. I desire to see him for myself."  
  
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Frodo lay on the soft damp earth of the woodland floor. Aragorn knelt over him, poking and prodding various parts of his body. Frodo longed to slip the Ring onto his finger, and be rid of this pain and uncertainty. Aragorn had questioned the hobbit for a while, trying to learn as much as he could about Frodo's most recent experience with these Shadows. Aragorn hadn't ever dealt with such beings, and so he knew not how to handle them- or how to slow their progress or stop them.  
  
"Now, Frodo, I'm going to lightly touch areas of your stomach- tell me if anything hurts."  
  
Frodo's eyes widened a little at the thought of being touched there, but he nodded and replied, "Alright Strider."  
  
The ring-bearer never took his eyes off of Aragorn's hands; following them closely everywhere they went. When the hands landed on Frodo's abdomen, he whimpered in pain and tried to escape, as a small amount of pressure was applied. Frodo began to break out in a sweat, as the hands moved up to his sides, prodding him as they went. Even the lightest touch, sent him reeling in pain.  
  
"Easy now, Frodo. It must be done, surely you understand?"  
  
Frodo nodded.  
  
At last, Aragorn was satisfied with his inspection, and rose to his feet. "Sam," the Ranger spoke in hushed tones, "The land from here to the Road continues on downwards in a gentle slope. I do not think that your Master will feel up to walking. The Shadows sense that we are drawing near Rivendell- and they don't intend on letting Frodo escape easily, if at all. He seems to be growing worse again. The pain that is in his sides now will likely continue to spread, affecting other parts of his body. The Shadows feel that if they cause him enough hurt now, he will be easier to conquer at the end- because he will no longer desire to live in this world." Aragorn finished gravely.  
  
Sam nodded vigorously, "Yes Mister Strider, Bill will be fine carrying my Master from here on to Rivendell."  
  
Aragorn patted the hobbit on the shoulder, "Come now, we must make haste. I want to continue on into the night as long as we can. I fear your Master's time is growing quite short."  
  
With that, Sam left Aragorn, and went to help Frodo onto Bill's back.  
  
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A/N: Thanks for reading. :) I should have the next chapter up in a few days! 


	10. Chapter X

Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. :)  
  
A/N: A huge thank you to *everyone* who reviewed! :)  
  
There is supposed to be some Elvish in this chapter, but since I don't know Elvish (and I don't want to make a fool of myself trying to use it here) I'm going to put *'s around parts where it's being spoken, and just use English. :)  
  
  
  
Chapter X  
  
Aragorns fears proved true as the day wore on. The shadows of evening lengthened, stretching out across the sloping hills, transforming the familiar sight of trees and rocks into threatening shapes in the twilight. The journey had continued, uneventful, and they were making good progress-, which pleased the Ranger. But Frodo was fading fast- as fast as the sun was setting. Once they resumed their journey after luncheon, he had swiftly grown very weary, and had been in a state of unconsciousness most of the afternoon. They were drawing near the road, and Aragorn was anxious to reach it. After they arrived at the road, it would be a straighter shot to Rivendell, and they would be able to pick up much needed speed.  
  
Aragorn looked back at the hobbits behind him, his eyes resting on young Pippin, he could see all their shoulders sagging and hear their heavy steps. They hadn't had a break since the mid-day meal, and Aragorn hadn't mentioned the prospect of one in the near future. He was reminded of their need for haste when he looked upon Frodo's shivering pale form, his eyes wide- yet unseeing. If they stopped now, then they may not get to Rivendell in time.  
  
Frodo sat limp upon Bill, half in a dream. The ache that had originated in his sides, the night before, had now spread up into and throughout his chest, meeting the throbbing in his wounded shoulder, making it almost impossible for the hobbit to breathe. His limbs felt heavy and were full of pain, the same that had spread from his middle. The mist before Frodo's eyes had deepened and become thicker, he could hardly see through it to the faces of his companions. Every so often, the others would hear him whimper in pain if he breathed too deeply, or shifted in Bill's saddle.  
  
Merry sat behind Frodo, clasping his dear friend securely around the waist- not hard enough to cause the older hobbit pain- but just enough to prevent him from falling. Frodo had slumped against Merry's chest, trying to find a position that hurt him the least.  
  
"Shh, Frodo… Just try to rest now. Don't worry about anything. You're going to be all right… it's not much further now." Merry cooed, as he stroked back Frodo's sweat soaked curls from the pale, freezing forehead. Although Merry himself was distraught about the whole situation, he found strength for his dear friend… he only hoped that he had spoken true when he said that Frodo would be all right. "Can you hear me Frodo?" Frodo nodded slightly and mumbled sounds that Merry discerned as something akin to "yes".  
  
Sam and Pippin walked along on either side of the pony; there was nothing else left for them to do- just get to Rivendell as fast as their feet could carry them. From time to time Sam would reach up and take one of his masters cold, trembling hands in his own, in an effort to warm it. Every now and then Frodo would squeeze weakly in response, which instilled hope in Sam's devoted heart.  
  
"My poor Mister Frodo," Sam sighed, as tears ran down his grimy cheeks. "Please be all right, don't leave your dear Sam. Oh, Master… how I wish you were well again, and we were back home, safe in the Shire…" Sam finished quietly, rubbing his Master's hand soothingly with his own. Frodo cried out, tears stinging his tired eyes, as Bill took another heavy step, jostling him in the saddle. The pony was as weary as the hobbits. "Sam…" Frodo whispered, pausing to clear his throat, "Sam, do not worry," he smiled weakly at his servant, "It will be all right, Sam. I'm sure of it." The younger hobbit smiled back up at his Master as Frodo gave his hand a light squeeze of encouragement.  
  
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The night noises had begun to ring out into the darkness all around them; Aragorn halted the company at the edge of the road. He paused at length, listening for any sound of a horses hooves beating upon the trampled earth. "Come, the road is clear as far as I am able to tell. We must make haste now, while there is still time." The hobbits complied, and fell in step behind him. Bill was now traveling at a brisk walk, with Merry and Frodo riding atop his back.  
  
They had not been long on the road when Aragorn halted them once more, "Shh!" he hissed, "There is someone ahead on the road." The hobbits soon heard the dreaded sound of hoof-beats, too. Aragorn stealthily led Bill away from the road. Pippin and Sam quickly and quietly followed suite.  
  
The steady, light clip-clop of hooves grew closer as the moments passed. The only other sound that could be heard among the company was Frodo's raspy, shallow breathing, and Sam's occasional gentle, shushing of his Master. "It doesn't sound like a Black Riders' horse," Pippin commented hopefully. Sam nodded in agreement, "Yes, Master Pippin, I believe the beat of its hooves sounds far to fair to be any such foul creature's steed." He whispered.  
  
Aragorn glanced up at the injured ring-bearer; his eyes were closed, head bowed. If the Ranger hadn't known better, he would almost have believed that the hobbit was sleeping, were it not for the constant trembling of his small frame. He reached up, putting the back of his large warm hand against Frodo's cheek. Aragorn winced inwardly at the coldness of it. Frodo leaned into his touch, attempting to absorb as much of the warmth as he could. Aragorn sighed, realizing how frail- yet strong, this small creature was, to have endured thus far. "Such a brave little thing, this hobbit is." Aragorn thought aloud.  
  
The horse was drawing nearer; Aragorn sank down into the bushes with the hobbits, and waited for the traveler to come. The Ranger lowered his head to the ground listening, but couldn't help allowing a smile to spread across his face as he did so. He leapt out of the bushes, much to the dismay of the hobbits. *Aragorn, my friend! *, A clear, musical voice called from the road. Aragorn glanced back at the hobbits, signaling that it was safe to leave the shelter of the bushes. "This," the Ranger declared, "Is Glorfindel, of the house of Elrond."  
  
Frodo opened and shut his eyes several times, trying to focus on the bright, yet gentle, light that was standing before him. A tall elf, dressed in finely made, long, flowing robes. His golden hair gleamed like dew- soaked grass reflecting the light of the sun on a warm summer morning.  
  
"I'm pleased to finally meet you, Master Frodo," Glorfindel smiled, speaking in the Common Speech, "I've been searching for your company for nine days. Lord Elrond sent scouts out from Rivendell, when he first learned of your predicament from some of our kinsmen journeying near your lands." The elf finished.  
  
Frodo smiled faintly, acknowledging the elf's presence, and taking in what he had just said.  
  
Glorfindel spoke with Aragorn of the current location of the Ring Wraiths. "There are five behind you. Whither the other four are, I do not know. I fear that they will soon pick up your path on the road, and give chase." He warned, "We must hasten on our way down the road- we shall be fortunate if we do not arrive to find the Ford held against us!" Glorfindel finished, a tone of apprehensiveness evident in his pleasant-sounding voice.  
  
Frodo raised his head slightly, and opened his eyes a little. It was almost completely dark now, he thought, though he could not really tell through the thick mist that shrouded his vision. He could see very little, but felt Sam's hand holding his own, and was comforted by it.  
  
Merry shot an anxious glance at Sam, as he felt Frodo's body tense against his own, and the ring-bearer sucked in a sharp breathe. Sam resisted pulling away from Frodo, as the grip on his hand tightened painfully.  
  
"Sam," Merry questioned, his voice quavering, "What's happening?" Frodo whimpered as an icy grip froze his battered body again; and then was silent. Sam had no time to answer, as Frodo began to slide off of Bill's back. Merry eased Frodo into Sam's embrace, and Sam lowered his Master to gently to the ground.  
  
Frodo began thrashing about, trying to break free from Sam's restraint. He called out in a tongue that was unknown to Sam, but feared by the elf.  
  
Glorfindel hurried to Sam's side, kneeling beside him, helping to contain the delirious hobbit. Aragorn quickly recounted the events from Weathertop to present. He explained the spells that had been coming over Frodo, in which the Shadows hurled him into the Wraith world, and possessed his body. Aragorn then produced the hilt of the blade that had smote the ring-bearer, explaining how the knife blade itself had melted when sunlight hit it.  
  
Glorfindel looked grimly into Frodo's pale face, the hobbit cried out as his tiny features twisted in anguish while the Shadows continued to torture him within the darkness of their cruel world. The elf placed one hand over Frodo's wounded shoulder and quickly withdrew, as if burned by the evil that lay buried within it. Frodo's eyes fluttered open, and he struggled to sit up- but was forced back down by Glorfindel's gentle hands. Frodo closed his eyes tightly and lay there gasping for breath; the world was still spinning before his eyes. Sobs rose in his throat- and he didn't try to contain them. He was so tired of the pain that consumed him, the darkness that separated him from his friends, the unrelenting fear that hounded them day and night, and the feeling of being hunted constantly by the fell creatures seeking to destroy him and reclaim what he carried. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Glorfindel spoke quietly to him- words of hope and encouragement. Frodo could understand little of the language, but the words calmed him and the mists before his eyes thinned a little as the elf spoke.  
  
"I believe," Aragorn stated "That perhaps a short rest will do us all more good than continuing to hurry along the road in our current state of weariness." The hobbits agreed heartily. They had been ready for sleep hours ago, and were pleased that the opportunity had finally presented itself. They all spread out their bedrolls, and Sam curled up next to his Master. They were all asleep within minutes, forgetting their hunger and thirst. Frodo lay unconscious, drained of all energy from his most recent battle with the Shadows and the Wraith world.  
  
Aragorn and Glorfindel talked quietly, long into the night, deciding what should be done the next day. There was no doubt that they must to reach Rivendell hastily; they just hoped with all their hearts that Frodo would last long enough.  
  
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The sun was well up into the morning sky when an insistent Aragorn roused the company from sleep.  
  
"Easy now, Mister Frodo," Frodo heard Sam's voice speaking softly to him; smoothing back his dark curls. Frodo groaned as he was lifted swiftly from the ground, and onto the back of Asfaloth, Glorfindel's white stallion.  
  
Upon inspection of the ailing hobbit Glorfindel spoke in hushed tones, *Come Aragorn, we must hurry. There is nothing I can do for him now. We must reach Elrond's house as soon as is possible. I fear that the hobbit has very little time left. *  
  
None of the others needed any further urging, though their legs and feet ached and their stomachs were demanding food. Glorfindel passed them a small flask, and instructed each to take a sip of the clear liquid inside. It had no taste, but filled their stomachs remarkably well, much to Pippin's surprise.  
  
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A/N: I hope to have the next chapter up in a few more days; it will be the last one before they reach Rivendell. I may post two at the same time, if the next one is too short. :) Thanks for reading! 


	11. Chapter XI

Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. :)  
  
A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in… well, too long! :) There will be *one* more chapter before Rivendell… I intended on this being the last one before it, but it didn't quite work out that way. I'll probably post two chapters next time, or work the first part of Rivendell into the last day of the journey to Rivendell.  
  
And, the *'s are still around conversations that are spoken in elvish.  
  
Thanks for the review LilyBaggins! :) Sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter. :(  
  
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Chapter XI  
  
Since Frodo was riding Asfaloth, Bill was able to bear the greater part of the company's baggage. Merry, Pippin and Sam were grateful to be rid of the extra weight, if only for a little while. The liquid they drank from Glorfindel's flask that morning had sustained them well all day; it was a good thing, as they had not been given an opportunity to rest or eat any meals yet, save for two short breaks.  
  
"No Merry, I am quite sure that it was *you* who let Milo Banks in on our plot!" Pippin retorted… and then paused before continuing, "It matters not who did it… 'Twas *his* fault in the end that we all got caught." He finished, a tone of regret in his voice.  
  
Merry thought for a moment before answering, "Milo is your uncles, best friends, son Pippin! And, might I add, that you were sweet on his sister for nigh on three years…?" Merry finished, proud that he was able to make Pippin squirm a bit.  
  
Pippin blushed at this, "So what if I was? She's a pretty lass, you can't deny that!" he rambled, trying to change the subject, "And besides, that's no good reason to be spreading around our affairs to a Banks, you know they can't keep nothing to themselves!" Pippin huffed, looking down, pulling apart a leaf that he had picked up off of the ground as they were walking along the Road.  
  
"Well," Merry pondered, "I suppose we oughtn't have been sneakin' ale in the first place… even if it was from the Green Dragon." He sighed.  
  
Merry strode up to Pippin's side, putting an arm around his young friends shoulders, "'Tis all far in the past anyhow, Pippin." Merry smiled. "Although, I have to say that it was right amusing watching little Milo drink that whole pint, for his punishment!" Then Merry and Pippin burst into laughter.  
  
"Shh!", came an aggravated hiss from behind them. "How many times does Mister Strider have to tell the both of you to keep it down?" Sam chided. "We can't be drawing any unnecessary attention to ourselves, if you get my meaning."  
  
At that, Merry and Pippin both quieted down and continued walking. Sam was right; they mustn't alert anyone, or anything, to their presence if it could be helped. Pippin shuddered at the thought of attracting the Black Riders, and even more so at the thought of them taking Frodo.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Frodo was pleased to discover that Asfaloth's gait was much smoother than Bill's ever had been. The elven horse was sure of foot, and careful not to jostle the sick hobbit. It was almost as if Asfaloth was aware of Frodo's condition, and tried to do everything he could to avoid causing the poor hobbit any unnecessary discomfort. He was lonely though, high up in the air. It was so against what was in a hobbit's nature, Frodo thought.  
  
Frodo gave a small sigh; he wished that Sam could have been up there on the horse with him, to keep him company and reassure him. His world was so very dark and cold, he would have given anything to have someone else there to help warm him. Just knowing that he wasn't alone would have been enough.  
  
Waking up was becoming harder and harder for Frodo. He caught small snatches of sleep often, and he was becoming more and more regretful each time someone roused him from it, which seemed to be quite often, he thought. He sat there in the saddle with his eyes closed, wrapped in blankets, listening to the steady beating of Asfaloth's hooves, and the weak beating of his own heart, as it echoed in his ears. The bright mid- afternoon sunlight shined through his eyelids, adding a red tint to his dark world.  
  
"Frodo…" he heard a familiar voice calling him from far off, "Frodo… wake up, little one, you mustn't fall too deeply into sleep." Aragorn finished, reaching up with one hand to stroke the hobbit's pale cheek.  
  
Frodo sighed wearily, "I know, Aragorn, that much you have told me. I am so tired though… and it's so cold. Have you any more blankets?" he finished unsteadily, his eyes still closed, as another wave of chills came over him.  
  
"I'm afraid not, Frodo. Every stitch of spare cloth has been given to you already." The Ranger finished. The small creature sitting upon the white stallion looked so lifeless, Aragorn thought. He blinked several times, fighting back bitter tears of regret. He felt as though he had let Frodo down, he joined the hobbits at Bree so that he might protect them… and now, he may wind up losing one of them because of his negligence. "But, surely I have gotten them farther than they would have gotten alone?" He thought to himself. Deep down, he knew he was right.  
  
Aragorn had noticed Frodo's growing reluctance to wake up long before the others had. As much as the ring-bearer needed rest, Aragorn just couldn't allow him to slip into a darkness that none of them could rescue him from. Not when they were this close to saving him. He was relieved that Glorfindel was now traveling with them and he no longer had to confide in Sam. He hated to burden the young hobbit with excess worry, when he was already beside himself with it.  
  
Aragorn removed his hand from Frodo's cheek, and fell in step with the elf. *Glorfindel, have you noticed-*, Aragorn began. Glorfindel finished Aragorn's thought before he could do so himself, *Yes, Aragorn, and sadly we must not allow him to sleep too deeply. The malady is heavily upon him now. If he loses touch with this world, even Elrond's healing skills may not be able to call him back. *  
  
The company walked on in silence for a while longer. It appeared to everyone that Frodo was growing more distant with every step they took. He had spoken little, and was unresponsive. He lay there; half slumped over onto Asfaloth's neck, in his own painful, dark world, almost completely unaware of anything going on around him.  
  
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When Frodo next came to himself; the smell of Athelas was lingering heavily in the air. He turned his head to the left and saw Aragorn kneeling beside him, bathing his freezing body with a warm cloth. It was dark. He could only just make out Aragorn's visage; the haze that dimmed his vision had become darker and thicker as night approached.  
  
"Aragorn?" Frodo's hoarse voice was barely a murmur.  
  
"I'm here Frodo." Aragorn soothed, "Don't be alarmed; we've stopped for the night. You had a dreadful spell not too long ago; Glorfindel and I decided that it was best that we stop; you weren't able to continue." He finished, pulling the blankets closer around Frodo's shivering form.  
  
"Wh- what… happened?" Frodo inquired shakily, fear rising in the back of his mind once more. The last thing he wanted to do was be more trouble than he knew he already was.  
  
"Here Frodo, drink this." Aragorn directed, as he produced a hot cup of tea. The Ranger swallowed hard, remembering the horrific display from a few hours prior. He knew he couldn't tell the frightened ring-bearer of such things; it wouldn't help the situation. "Nay Frodo, it's over now, there's no need in mentioning such things…although I am surprised that you do not remember. You appeared to be aware of yourself throughout most of the ordeal." Aragorn smiled grimly, "Just…"  
  
That was the last Frodo heard, as he slipped into a fitful sleep. *Let him rest a short while, Aragorn. He will come to no harm, if he only rests briefly. *  
  
Glorfindel had quietly approached Frodo from the other side, placing two gentle hands on the ring-bearer's chest and speaking soft phrases in elvish; willing the weary hobbit to forget his cares and pains.  
  
*Thank you, Glorfindel. I agree that he does need some relief for a brief period of time. *  
  
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Two hours earlier, Aragorn's train of thought was interrupted by Frodo's cries. The Ranger looked up to find the wretched looking hobbit breathing heavily, yet seeming to gather no air in his lungs. He was hunched over onto Asfaloth's neck, his good hand cradling his head.  
  
"Bilbo… it hurts. Make it stop, please… Bilbo." Frodo sobbed. His eyes were squeezed shut; his small body shuddered from cold.  
  
Aragorn fell back, walking alongside Asfaloth. He reached his hand up to rub Frodo's back. "Easy now, Frodo, where does it hurt?" he asked gently.  
  
The only answer Aragorn got, was Frodo's continued sobbing. The Ranger carefully slid one arm under the hobbits front, sitting him upright in the saddle. Then, he lifted him off of the horses back, and into his own arms. "Shh… Frodo, I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong."  
  
"You can't help anyway, Strider." Frodo spoke wearily, meeting Aragorn's gaze. The sadness and suffering contained in those once jubilant, innocent eyes, stabbed at Aragorn's heart more than ever.  
  
"Well Frodo, I can do my best to try." The Ranger smiled slightly, trying not to allow Frodo to lose all hope.  
  
Without warning, Frodo cried out in anguish, and stiffened in Aragorn's arms, his breathing erratic.  
  
Frodo whimpered in pain as he felt the Shadow's filling his body with their evil presence once again.  
  
Aragorn held the hobbit close to him, as Frodo kicked and screamed, trying to escape the Ranger's grasp. Trying to join the dark forces that were working their evil magic on his small form. It was strange, Aragorn thought, the hobbit's body trying its hardest to depart the soul that still clung to it by a thread. It fought to cast away that soul, into oblivion, and fill the shell left behind with more of a void than if the body were to remain empty.  
  
Frodo shuddered as he sucked in a sharp breath; the Shadows' grasp on him was at last relinquished. He clung to Aragorn's neck, sobbing into the Rangers shoulder. Aragorn tried his best to comfort Frodo. Rubbing his back and speaking softly to him.  
  
"Aragorn…" Frodo spoke shakily, "I'm so afraid." He paused, catching his breath, "I can't see… I can't see any of you anymore… It's so cold. My head hurts, Aragorn. Make them leave me alone, make it stop." Frodo cried, as he clutched a small arm tightly around Aragorn's neck.  
  
Glorfindel stood by, ready to be of assistance, should anything else happen. The other three hobbits watched with shocked expressions on their faces. Sam was distraught to see his Master in such pain. Salty tears had begun to gather in the corners of his eyes. What hurt the worst was knowing that he could do nothing to help.  
  
*Aragorn, I think it's time we sought shelter for the night. The halfling can continue no further tonight, I believe*, Glorfindel proposed, *the ring- bearer's kinsman are weary, as are you. * The elf finished, hoping the Ranger would heed his advice.  
  
Aragorn looked at his friend, Glorfindel was right. They couldn't go any further that night without rest. Frodo needed to be warmer, and he must drink something. The fit had taken a lot out of him.  
  
*Yes, Glorfindel, gather the other three, I shall look for a place where we may rest safely off of the road. * Aragorn instructed.  
  
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A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review! :) As always, I am in constant need of constructive criticism. :) 


	12. Chapter XII

Disclaimer: I own nothing. :)  
  
A/N: Thank all of you who reviewed! :) You guys are great.  
  
MarigoldG, I'm so happy that you like my fic! :) I know all three of them are cousins, but I decided to keep it as Pippin calling Frodo his cousin, and Merry calling Pippin his friend, just to make things less confusing. :) I thought it would be a little hard to understand if I had all three of them calling each other cousin. And also, the part about Merry speaking not- so-nice things about a Banks in front of Pippin…(hehe!) It was meant to be a joke between them, but I guess Pippin's reaction wouldn't have been so casual to it… unless, of course, Merry was right! ;)  
  
Sorry I haven't updated since the 21st :( I promise I'll try to do better in the future. :)  
  
And, as always, what's meant to be spoken in elvish is in *'s. :)  
  
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The weary company continued on their way the following morning, much in the same manner as they had on the previous day. Glorfindel leading, Aragorn bringing up the rear. The persistent fair weather was promising, a beaming sun set pleasantly in the pale blue sky. Although, the hobbits wondered to themselves how it was that the sun could be so cheerful, casting his bright, warm yellow rays upon their shoulders, when they themselves were in such distress. A gentle breeze rippled through their hair as they continued on their way, downwards to the Ford of Bruinen.  
  
Pippin sighed heavily, shifting the weight on his back, and walked onward. Even with Bill now carrying most of the baggage, the growing weariness caused by traveling on such scant food provisions had made even the lightest pack seem heavier than a sack of apples, Pippin thought. He wished so much that the Ford wasn't still so many miles ahead of them; and being so tired made it all the more difficult to think about the distance they had yet to travel. Although he did take comfort in the fact that the land the Road lay on, still consisted of a gentle downward slope.  
  
Sam walked along beside Asfaloth's towering stature. The stallion was rather enjoying the pleasant weather, and he snorted from time to time, feeling quite spirited. The hobbit, dwarfed by the size of the elvish horse, was not frightened- but was careful not to tread to close to where the powerful legs met the earth.  
  
Sam looked up at his master, pity filling his heart. The light of the sun illuminated Frodo's head from behind; it streamed through his sweat-soaked curls and tangles, seeming to frame his head against the backdrop of foliage; giving the hobbits head an almost ethereal glow. Frodo's eyes were staring blankly ahead, dark circles clearly outlined beneath each one, serving as a reminder to Sam of his Master's peril. His slight frame was wracked by chills; brought on by some dark force, but outwardly appeared to be a result of the steady gentle breezes.  
  
"Mister Strider?" Sam inquired hesitantly, knowing that he ought not interrupt their travel.  
  
"What is it, Sam?" The ranger answered kindly.  
  
"My Master, he seems… cold. Colder than usual, or colder than he's been lately, if you will." Sam paused, "Perhaps there is something one of us could do for him? Though I know we haven't got anymore blankets…" He trailed off, kicking at rocks on the Road as he walked.  
  
"Well, Sam, I don't know what you suggest we do." Aragorn began carefully, not wanting to affront the concerned Samwise, "You're right, we have no more blankets or clothes to give to Frodo. And… I don't believe that it would be wise to stop for a break at this point." He sighed, "But, I suppose, we could halt for a brief while. Perhaps it would do everyone good." The Ranger finished. Sam nodded in agreement, and Aragorn jogged up to Glorfindel, telling him of their plans for a rest.  
  
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Sam sat in a patch of sunlight, within thicket where the company was resting, cradling the upper portion of Frodo's limp body in his lap.  
  
"Here Mister Frodo, take some…" Sam encouraged his Master, "It's just a bit of dried apple. It'll go down easy." The younger hobbit tried to convince Frodo.  
  
"Sam… please, no. I- I cannot eat anymore." Frodo mumbled weakly, raising a trembling hand in protest. "I don't feel well, Sam, please… don't. Just let me be." He finished, allowing Sam to gently push his hand back to the ground.  
  
Sam wasn't satisfied; Frodo had barely eaten two small bits of dried fruit, and had taken little of the tea provided by Glorfindel. "Easy now, Mister Frodo, no one's pressin' you to take more than you can stomach." Sam soothed. His mind drifted back to better times, "Why, remember last winter, the Yule feast we had…?" he reminisced, "Boiled taters', with mushroom sauce… an' that wonderful soup that Mrs. Maggot made for you; although you hardly touched it... honestly though, there were a bit too many onions in it for my liking..." Sam thought, "Do you remember it, Mister Frodo? I don't know about you, but just thinking about the Yule feast- or any feast for that matter, makes my stomach gnaw at my backbone!" he ended, laugh quietly to himself.  
  
"Oh, Sam!" Frodo nearly cried, paling a bit as he attempted to shift in Sam's lap, "Please don't mention food…" Frodo finished, wrapping his uninjured arm around his belly, wincing as the pressure from it activated the throbbing in his sides. He tried to push all memories of food out of his mind. "The very thought of it makes me feel unwell." Frodo said aloud.  
  
"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, Mister Frodo," Sam stumbled over his words, "I- I didn't mean to upset your stomach… I was just trying to make conversation, if you get my meaning, remember old times and such." Sam explained quickly, failing to pay attention in his nervousness, as he began to rise to his knees, jolting Frodo's body as he did so.  
  
"Sam…!" Frodo whimpered, reaching out blindly for something to cling to as he sunk to the ground. He groaned in pain as he felt his stomach reel, and then brutally force its contents up and out.  
  
Sam knelt beside his Master; and when the sickness had passed, he spoke words of comfort in a reassuring tone into Frodo's ear, as he lay crumpled on the ground.  
  
"Poor Mister Frodo," Sam murmured under his breath, "it wasn't my fault… it was bound to happen sooner or later, he's been gettin' paler and paler the past few hours." Sam persuaded himself, as he stroked his masters' curls, trying his best to console his sick friend.  
  
"Mister Frodo, don't you worry now. Mister Strider told me this mornin' that we'd be nearing the Ford tonight, most likely." Sam carried on, trying to sound hopeful.  
  
Frodo made no answer; he just lay where he fell, his ragged breathing now coming in shallow gasps. Frodo shuddered once more, then darkness descended upon him, and he could not hear Sam calling his name anxiously.  
  
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When Frodo finally regained awareness, it was almost completely dark. He wasn't sure if it was actual darkness, or if his vision had finally completely failed him. Everything ached, he thought, as he sat motionless upon Asfaloth's back, not wanting to cause himself any excess pain by moving. Although, Frodo didn't know if he possessed the strength to move- even if he had wanted or needed to do so.  
  
The ring-bearer could sense how anxious the rest of the company felt. Glorfindel was close by, peering through the darkness; searching for the presence of some unnamed fear that Frodo thought was sure to be lurking somewhere among the trees... or perhaps a ways ahead on the road.  
  
Frodo shivered involuntarily. He could feel them; feel their sinister presence. Frodo knew what it felt like to be hunted by these fell creatures. This feeling was not the one that had been hounding him since Weathertop; it was something far more powerful and dark. The Wraiths had at last come to take him, he could feel that the last struggle was approaching; and he knew that he had naught with which to fight the battle.  
  
At that moment, Glorfindel cried out, "The servants of darkness are upon us now!", he then called to Asfaloth in the tongue of his people, *Run, Asfaloth! Run! *  
  
Suddenly sharp cries rang out among the trees that surrounded the Road. Frodo winced at the shrill noise, pain shooting through his already sore head. The company scattered, as Glorfindel continued to urge Asfaloth ahead.  
  
The stallion needed no further urging; he bolted down the road at lightning speed. Tears streamed across Frodo's cheeks as he gripped Asfaloth's mane tightly with his hand, the trees around him had become even more of a blur. One continuous string of dark yellow-orange on either side of him. The wind tore violently at his clothes and hair, whipping past in a roar as they flew towards the Ford. But it was not the wind that bothered Frodo. He felt an overwhelming urge to slow the horse down, to allow the Wraiths to gain ground.  
  
Frodo took the leather reigns in his hand, and pulled back hard, slowing the horse to a trot. The delirious hobbit could still hear Glorfindel's cries echoing after him. Asfaloth heard his master's frantic cries and snorted, half rearing, as if begging the hobbit to let him bolt forward. Frodo knew that he couldn't stop. If he stopped, then the Wraiths would catch him. If they caught him, all would be lost.  
  
He could feel the cold and ache growing in his shoulder; it was spreading throughout his body once more; no doubt going in for the final blow. He cried out in anguish as he felt shooting pain overwhelm him.  
  
Frodo dropped the reigns, and hunched down onto Asfaloth's back, grabbing a fistful of mane. The horse instinctively raced forward, galloping the last league to the ford, merely a white streak against the dark earth.  
  
Just then, Frodo could make out two black horses galloping fiercely, a little ways ahead of him, attempting to cut off his escape. Two more riders flew down a bank and into the road, following the hobbit in hot pursuit.  
  
They were making their way up to Asfaloth's side. One reached out a gloved hand towards Frodo; he gasped in surprise and pain as it felt as though someone had squeezed the life out of him. He felt faint, and swayed upon the stallion's back. Frodo hunched over even closer to Asfaloth's neck, and squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel their evil presence, overcoming him. He could hear their taunting voices, teasing him. Frodo again felt the urge to slow Asfaloth's gait, but refrained from doing so as he opened one eye, and was met with gaze of a Wraith. The black hood appeared to be empty; an invisible head filled its void. Frodo knew what they looked like, for he had seen them. Horrible, dark creatures, they were, and hideous to look upon.  
  
Frodo drew as deep a breath as he could manage, and shouted as loudly as he was able, "Stay back! Chase me not; you foul creatures of darkness! Go back to Mordor! Go back to your master! There is nothing here that you will ever possess again-" Frodo was cut short, stifling the cries of anguish that were quickly rising in his raw throat.  
  
Asfaloth sped ever onwards, towards the safety of Rivendell's borders, bearing his precious cargo swiftly away from the peril that hunted them.  
  
The Ford came into view, around the bend of the Road, not too far ahead. The other two Wraiths reappeared, galloping swiftly, trying to head off the hobbit and the stallion. Asfaloth whipped by them, barely averting tragedy, as Frodo clung to his neck for dear life.  
  
The horse advanced fearlessly into the waters of the Ford, leaving the hesitant Wraiths behind, on the shore. Frodo gasped as he felt the cold water engulfing his feet, and then his legs. Asfaloth moved quickly and effortlessly through the water, until he finally reached the other side.  
  
The first of the Wraiths was now midway across the Ford, advancing quickly. The other horses had just entered the water. Frodo could hear them, calling to him, taunting him in the Black Speech. They bade him return to them, they wished to take him to Mordor.  
  
Frodo's vision was failing, darkness descended on his world. He could no longer cope with the pain and weariness that had consumed him over the past several weeks, Frodo gave in to the darkness.  
  
The last image that he remembered through the mist and pain was the roaring of the Ford's waters. It seemed to him, as though great white horses galloped ferociously through the riverbed, spurred on by some unseen rider. He heard the screams of the Nazgul as the waves overcame them, sweeping them and their horses away down the river, to their doom.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes wearily, and gripped Asfaloth's mane; pressing his face into the stallions' warm back, all of his muscles tensing as his shoulder throbbed and his world spun. He felt the water swarm around his ankles once more. Frodo cried out as he felt himself falling, falling away into the swirling, angry waters of the Ford of Bruinen.  
  
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A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review! :) I really do need the constructive criticism; frequently I miss the most obvious things and turn them around or confuse them with something else. :) 


	13. Chapter XIII

Disclaimer: I own nothing! :)  
  
A/N: First, I just have to say a huge thanks to *everyone* who reviewed! :) Thanks for the compliments and encouragement. It makes me so happy knowing that people like this fic. :)  
  
There are still a few chapters left in this fic, but I've already got another one planned (still Frodo angst) that I'll start as soon as this ones done. :) I'll put the name of it in the last chapter of this fic. I haven't come up with a name for it yet.  
  
Ancalimë, I'm glad you like the fic! :) I didn't mean to switch Aragorn/Strider in chapter eleven. Technically, the hobbits didn't know Strider's real name until they got to Rivendell anyway. I had been being careful about it, but I guess I slipped up. :) Thanks for pointing it out though, I hadn't noticed :p  
  
And, as always, Elvish is in *'s :)  
  
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Chapter XIII  
  
His eyes were like the stars; they had gazed upon Middle-Earth for millennia and seen good and evil, joy and sorrow, light and dark- all in abundance. Some considered it the curse of being immortal; living for so many years, acquiring so many memories of lost loves and fallen friends, and only able retire when finally sailing into the West. Though, through his trials he had learned to appreciate something in everything. He possessed both a sadness, and a joy about himself that mortals couldn't comprehend; for they had too little time to dwell on Middle-Earth to acquire the varied experiences necessary produce such an air.  
  
The Lord of the Last Homely House, in Rivendell, stood gazing out of a large palladium window in his study, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the ornate engravings on the casing. Elrond felt that the company would be arriving that night, and he had sent scouts out little over three hours ago to ensure that they arrived safely and crossed the Ford without incident. He had an idea of what to expect, in all of his years he had become a master healer. There was little that the Elf Lord hadn't seen and treated successfully. Though, there were exceptions.  
  
Most of his experiences had been in the healing of larger beings than this halfling that would be arriving with Aragorn. The only hobbit that Elrond had had the pleasure of making acquaintances with was Bilbo Baggins, a stout friendly little chap. The halfling that had been struck by a Wraith was Bilbo's nephew. Elrond hoped that he would be able to save the small being, but he wouldn't know for sure until he assessed the ring-bearers condition for himself. Frodo had borne his fatal wound, and survived, longer than most warriors could have managed. Elrond was truly impressed with the fastness that this race exhibited.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when a soft knock came at his door. Elrond took one last glance out of the window, and moved to the other side of the room, opening the door. His eyes widened a little as he beheld the sight before him. One of his fastest riders stood in the entryway; in his arms he carried a lifeless bundle of what appeared to be soaking wet muddy clothing. The elf-lord beckoned them in, and bade them lay the bundle down on a bed that had been prepared.  
  
A small whimper came from the heap of rags; Elrond peeled back the layers of grimy clothes to reveal a tiny pale form; he resisted drawing back as he felt the evil presence that radiated from the halfling's shoulder. He bent down close to the hobbit, hoping to pick up any sign of breathing. The elf passed his hand over the hobbits nose, and detected the slightest hint of breath on the back of his hand.  
  
*Andoion, * Elrond spoke to a nearby elf, *Fetch me some cool water, and then set some more on to boil. * Then he rose from his position over Frodo's body and turned and spoke to the other elf that was standing behind him. * Nevcú, look on the table over in the corner and gather the appropriate herbs, * Elrond continued, *we must get him cleaned up, and then see to his wound. Also, bid Aduladiel find clothes small enough to fit the halfling. * He finished, turning back to Frodo.  
  
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Frodo lay in a dark dream, his body rejecting every effort he made to survive. He was somewhere familiar, but different. It was quiet, and dark. He felt so alone. The pain in his shoulder and arm was immense; he could no longer escape it in his sleep. He could barely breathe, though air surrounded him, it felt like none of it would enter his lungs.  
  
"Am I asleep?" Frodo thought. "Or…perhaps I drowned in the Ford, and now I'm dead." He finished unsteadily. Indeed, it was the last thing he could remember. The darkness had overwhelmed him and he slipped off Asfaloth's back. He felt icy water rushing past, filling his ears, drowning out the screams of the Ring-Wraiths, the current throwing him violently to the river bottom, and slamming him into the rocks that lay hidden beneath the surface of the water.  
  
A noise in the distance brought him back to present, "Who's there?" he called. No answer was made.  
  
Seconds later more noise followed, this time it was closer. "Hello?" Frodo called, beginning to panic. The noise grew ever closer, and louder. Frodo's shallow breath's quickened as he fought to remain calm despite the fear that was rising in the back of his mind. The wind picked up, and the Shadows from his journey to Rivendell appeared out of the blackness. This dream world was a familiar place to him. They had dragged him to this same place repeatedly since Weathertop, ravaging his tortured mind, and beating his injured body with their cruel, invisible whips.  
  
The Shadows paused before him, like wolves ready to spring onto prey. They threw back their hoods, which, to his horror, revealed the faces of his companions. They were after him; the looks on their faces were of betrayal and hatred. They had turned against him. The cold glint in their black eyes told him that these beings were not the friends he once had, they were fell creatures of darkness seeking to take from him what he carried.  
  
Frodo was surrounded, he knew there was no escape; he threw himself to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off blows as the entities closed in for the kill.  
  
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Lord Elrond tended Frodo throughout the night, and into the next day. The rest of the company had arrived shortly after Frodo and Asfaloth, and collapsed into their beds, out of exhaustion.  
  
Sam rose that afternoon and asked to see his master. Aragorn promised that he would ask the Elf-lord if Frodo was able to have visitors. Truth be told, Aragorn had seen Frodo earlier and didn't want to subject his young servant to such a sight.  
  
  
  
Frodo lay in his bed, which had been moved to his own room, and was completely unresponsive to every attempt made by Elrond to bring him back from the darkness that he had slipped into. Every so often, he would stir in his sleep or mumble nonsense, but most of the time he remained quiet, almost peaceful. The Elves had bathed him, warmed him, and cleaned his shoulder with Athelas water. He wore a tiny, finely made elven shirt; and the Ring gleamed sinisterly on a chain that hung at Frodo's neck. The small hobbit was still as pale as ever, though, and his skin was icy cold to the touch.  
  
Sam at last found his way into the room where his Master was sleeping. It was quite a splendid room, with many large windows. Everything in it seemed to be carven or engraved in a beautiful flowing script or design. Light reflected off of the river and danced merrily on the high, white ceilings. Stone statues, representing elves or animals, were displayed in numerous recesses in the walls of the room. It was such a light, pleasant place. Sam didn't see how anything could ever be amiss in the entire Valley.  
  
"Pardon me, Lord Elrond, sir," Sam began hesitantly, "I've come to stay with my Master, Mister Frodo ought not have to go through this without his Sam by his side." He continued, feeling a little more confident.  
  
Elrond smiled to himself, admiring the loyalty of this young halfling. "Indeed, Master Samwise, Frodo has spoken of you in his sleep." Elrond said, "You are a dear friend of his, I take it?" the Elf-lord questioned.  
  
"Why, yes sir, I'm his gardener. And, in any case, he's my Master and I believe it's my job to see him through this." Sam stated boldly, his tone indicating that his decision to stay with Frodo would not be reversed by anyone.  
  
Elrond was somewhat taken aback by Sam's audacity, yet he remembered that these hobbits were very close. It would be good for Frodo, Elrond decided, to have a familiar presence in the room.  
  
Sam had begun to feel uncomfortable during Elrond's silence, though he stood his ground anyway. He had to be there for his Master, and he wasn't going to let someone even so mighty as an Elf-lord keep him from that.  
  
"If you wish it so, Master Samwise." Elrond replied, gesturing to where Frodo lie unconscious in the bed at the center of the room.  
  
Sam brightened, and made his way over to his Master's side. Tears stung his tired eyes as he looked down on Frodo's still form. He turned back to Elrond, "Haven't you done anything for him?" He regretted his sharp words, realizing that there were many things that he did not understand in the ways of healing, particularly the methods used by the elves.  
  
Elrond was patient with the hobbit, knowing that it was likely grief and shock speaking, rather than Sam's true intentions. "Master Samwise, I have done all that I can for him now. These things take time, and I do not know yet what I may have to do." Elrond spoke gravely, "His condition is stable for the time being… He rests now, and is likely in a lot less pain than he was last night." Elrond paused, "… I don't want to resort to drastic measures if it can be avoided." The Elf finished, casting a glance at Frodo. "But," he added, "You must trust me."  
  
Sam averted Elrond's gaze, and placed a work-worn hand on Frodo's damp brow, cringing at the coldness of it. "When," Sam began, trying to keep his voice from faltering, "When do you suppose, sir, that he will wake?"  
  
Elrond knelt down beside Sam and placed a kind hand on the hobbits shoulder. "I cannot be sure, Sam, I will give him today, and perhaps tomorrow as well, before I take this any further. Then, I shall see how what I have already done is affecting him." Elrond did not wish to go into any detail with the hobbit about what may have to be done in order to bring Frodo back, he would not understand, and it would only cause him excess worry about a situation that he could not control. The Elf-lord decided that it would be better just to let Sam have some time with his Master before any further decisions were made.  
  
A moan escaped Frodo's lips just then, and he struck out at some invisible foe with his good hand. Sam carefully climbed up on the tall bed, and lay down beside his Master. "Mister Frodo?" Sam whispered, "If you can hear me speakin', it's your Sam, I'm here now." He took one of Frodo's hands in his own, rubbing it soothingly as he continued speaking, "I won't leave you, Master." Sam could feel tears rolling down his cheeks as he spoke, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered to him now; he just wanted his Master to be well again.  
  
Frodo began trembling, and tears seeped out from under his closed eyelids. Sam bit back a sob, wondering what terrible things were causing his Master to act that way.  
  
Elrond noticed Frodo's increasing discomfort; he ordered more Athelas water to be boiled, and brought more blankets to help warm the sick hobbit. He moved over to Frodo's side of the bed, and placing two hands on the halfling's chest, he spoke words of comfort and peace. It seemed to help, as Frodo's breathing slowed, and he appeared to be resting once more.  
  
Sam was already asleep, his hand still clutching Frodo's; by the time the Athelas water was ready. Elrond pulled the blankets away from Frodo's wounded shoulder and began another treatment, inspecting the wound carefully. Though it was completely healed, nothing more than a cold white mark, Elrond sensed that there was something deeper, lying hidden, that was at the root of Frodo's illness.  
  
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A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Please review! And of course, constructive criticism is welcomed! :) 


	14. Chapter XIV

Disclaimer: I own nothing! :)  
  
A/N: Thank you all for reviewing. :) Sorry it's taken me so long to add another chapter! I got sidetracked and I've also been working on my other fic called "September". The first chapter is up now. :) Please read it and let me know what you think. The main characters are Frodo and Bilbo. It's set in the Shire, in September, near Frodo's 23rd birthday. Most of it takes place in Bag End.  
  
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The wizard Gandalf sat in a chair by Frodo's bed, observing the restless hobbit. He watched as Sam kept a silent vigil by his Master, never leaving Frodo's side.  
  
The hobbits had been in Rivendell for three day's, and Frodo had shown little or no sign of improvement. Elrond had used all of the knowledge of healing that he possessed, but to no avail. Frodo had remained in the same lifeless state that he had arrived in, occasionally tossing in his sleep- if sleep was what it could be called; and whimpering or mumbling thoughts subconsciously.  
  
"Good afternoon, Lord Elrond," Gandalf spoke, upon seeing the Elf-lord enter the room almost silently, closing the door behind him. "Have you made a decision yet?" the wizard looked appealingly in Elrond's direction.  
  
"I have." The elf sighed wearily, "You're right, Gandalf. I thought it possible the first day after the halfling's arrival, though I have since had doubts... Nonetheless, it is worth a try." He paused, "…Nothing else is working. It may be the only way we can save Frodo."  
  
Gandalf nodded, "Yes, my friend, you have tried everything within your power; the only other option is to see if there is indeed a piece of the blade embedded in his shoulder." The wizard stated.  
  
"Yes," Elrond replied, "I have spoken with Aragorn at length on the matter and he confirmed that the blade was indeed notched, and clearly there is a chance that a piece remains buried within Frodo's body." Elrond finished, walking over to Frodo's bed, hoping to find sign's of improvement.  
  
The elf frowned upon examination of the hobbit's shoulder and his low body temperature. It was no good, Frodo's condition was deteriorating and there was nothing else left that could be done. Though, Elrond regretted having to resort to these measures.  
  
"What are you going to do to my Master, sir?" Sam spoke up, almost as if he could read Elrond's thoughts; he had been listening to the conversation, waiting for the elf and wizard to finish before he voiced his opinion on the matter at hand. "Whatever it is, I'm not leavin' him."  
  
Elrond couldn't help but smile at the hobbit. Such a determined little folk, they were! "Samwise, you may remain with your Master, if you wish." Elrond looked gravely at the young gardener, "Only you though. And only because I realize now how close you are to him, and it may bring him comfort just having you near." The elf smiled. "Now, I must be off. I've things to prepare before we can continue in this endeavor." Elrond turned around elegantly, heading towards the door.  
  
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but you never did answer my question proper." Sam pointed out, jumping down from Frodo's bed. He hadn't *asked* to stay with his Master, he was planning on doing that regardless. He wanted to know exactly what was going to be done.  
  
Elrond paused at the door and turned around to face the small hobbit that stood before him. He felt as though he ought to be honest with Sam, "I have come to believe that a piece of the Morgul Blade remains buried in your Master's shoulder, Samwise." The elf held Sam's gaze as he continued speaking, "His condition is not improving. As you know, I have done everything I can to help Frodo." Elrond paused, allowing time for this news to sink in. "I must reopen his wound, and search for a fragment of the blade. And if this does not work then there may be nothing more that I can do for him." He finished curtly, hoping to convey the gravity of the situation to Sam.  
  
The hobbit paled a bit at this, swallowing hard, he answered "S- so, you mean to… cut my Master's shoulder, and… there's still a piece of that knife inside of him?" Sam looked shocked. "Isn't there another way?" he cried.  
  
"It is the only way." Elrond replied, turning to leave once more.  
  
Sam stood speechless as he watched the elf slip gracefully through the door, closing it quietly behind him.  
  
"Samwise…" Sam heard a kind voice behind him. It was Gandalf. "Sam, you must trust Elrond's healing abilities." The wizard nodded knowingly, "He knows what is best for Frodo." Gandalf continued, "I support his decision, it is very likely that there is a fragment of the blade in Frodo's shoulder. It must be removed before it pierces his heart."  
  
Sam climbed back up onto his Master's bed, bowing his head so Gandalf wouldn't see him crying. "I- I know, Mister Gandalf, it's just that… I don't want anything to happen to my Master." Sam said quietly, "What if Elrond is too late? What if the Wraith's blade has already pierced Mister Frodo's heart?" Sam looked up, tears streaking his rosy cheeks.  
  
Gandalf shifted in his chair, "No, I do not think that has happened yet, Sam. Elrond knows what he is doing. Though, the longer we wait the more difficult it will be for everyone involved."  
  
Sam nodded; he knew the wizard was right. "Will it hurt him much, Mister Gandalf?" the hobbit questioned, looking pleadingly into Gandalf's eyes.  
  
The wizard shook his head and focused his eyes on a point somewhere on the other side of the room, "Sam, you are well aware, as are we all, that he is suffering even now. You were with him on the journey from Weathertop and you saw what he went through." Gandalf shot Sam a glance, knowing that the hobbit knew he was right, "I do not think that he will feel much, or anything. I cannot be sure though. He is unconscious, after all. And aside from that, it is a small price to pay in order to end the pain and darkness that consumes him now."  
  
Sam nodded slowly, realizing that Gandalf was right. He reached a small hand down and touched his Master's brow, brushing wisps of Frodo's hair out of his eyes.  
  
"I can't bear the thought of losing you, Master." Sam spoke gently as he watched his master's still form.  
  
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Frodo opened his eyes slowly. He found himself staring up at the familiar rafters in his old room at Bag End. The sunlight streamed in through his window, illuminating the pleasant room.  
  
He sat up slowly, trying to get his bearings. "What happened?" Frodo wondered to himself. Then his heart twisted as he remembered the events of the past weeks. The last thing he remembered was the Shadows closing in on him… but they had been in the shape of his friends. Strider had been among them. Had that part been real at all? Hadn't it been a dream? If the whole journey, and everything about the Ring, had been a dream, then how could he remember Strider so vividly? He lifted his right hand, testing all of his fingers. No pain in them, and the skin was warm to the touch. It was as if the accident at Weathertop had never happened at all. Maybe it *had* all been a dream. But no… the events of the journey were painfully clear in Frodo's mind.  
  
The thoughts troubled Frodo, but he decided to put them aside for the time being. He swung his legs over the bed, touching the floor. It felt good to feel the familiar old rug beneath his toes, and the soft warm bedclothes that he had always worn.  
  
Frodo yawned, scratching his head. He looked around for something to wear. It was then that he realized something was definitely wrong. He remembered that he had sold Bag End before he left the Shire… what was he doing back there now? "If I am indeed home, then why am I here, in Bag End?" he wondered. Suddenly he became aware of someone singing, it came from outside, in the hall. "It can't be…" Frodo thought aloud, "Uncle Bilbo?" he called. "Is that you?"  
  
The door to his room creaked open, and Bilbo entered, smiling at his nephew. "Hello Frodo! My dear lad, I'm so glad to see you awake and well!" Bilbo spoke cheerily.  
  
Frodo sat back down on the bed, feeling faint. "Wh- What happened? Bilbo?" he spoke shakily. "What are you doing here? Y- You left s- seventeen years ago…"  
  
"Oh?" Bilbo questioned, "Oh, yes… I did, didn't I!" he continued. "Frodo I've been worried sick about you. We all have… haven't we?" he added, changing the subject.  
  
"We?" Frodo asked hesitantly.  
  
"Yes, of course, all of us. We've been waiting for you to wake." Bilbo rambled, "You've been ill for quite some time, Frodo. We did everything we could but we almost had to give up on you!" The older hobbit finished, moving over to where Frodo sat, placing a gentle hand on the younger hobbits shoulder.  
  
Frodo remained seated where he was, fear creeping up on him again just as it had before, in his dream. "Bilbo… Whom are you talking about?" Frodo questioned anxiously.  
  
"Frodo, don't tell me you have forgotten!" Bilbo chuckled nervously, "Your friends, of course. Who else?" his smile faded, "Are you feeling well, Frodo? Should I send for the healer?" he questioned, placing a hand on Frodo's forehead.  
  
"What friends? Merry and Pippin? Where's Sam?" the younger hobbit persisted, ignoring his uncles question.  
  
"All of them Frodo." Bilbo spoke quietly, the tone of his voice darkening.  
  
Frodo looked past his uncle to the doorway, all of his friends stood waiting, strange smiles on their unnaturally pale faces. He felt the sudden urge to run as they started advancing towards him, Bilbo leading them. He crawled as far back as he could, to the edge of his bed, and then fell on the floor. They continued moving forward, Frodo clawed his way under the bed, seeking refuge from this nightmare that he felt sure had become a reality.  
  
He felt a cold hand grasp him firmly, pulling him forcefully from beneath the bed. It dragged him to his feet, and stood watching him with ravenous eyes as its foul claws reached for his throat. The hand reached for what hung on the chain around the hobbits small neck.  
  
The others moved to stand behind Frodo; he could feel their moist breath on the back of his neck. Smell the foul odor as they talked among themselves; they smelled of death. Bag End smelled of death.  
  
"This is not Bag End!" Frodo's mind screamed. "I sold Bag End before I even left the Shire…" he knew it was true, but realizing that made what was happening now even scarier.  
  
He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and he felt himself falling. Falling to the cold, hard floor. He heard them laughing at him, tears welled up in his eyes as he felt a warm substance trickling down the back of his neck. He curled up on the floor, trying to escape their cruel gazes. He felt them begin to kick him; and the leader, who had appeared in the form of his dear uncle, groped at his neck with cold claw-like hands. A particularly hard blow was dealt to his side; he heard a horrible cracking noise as the world went dark.  
  
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"Keep him still, Sam!" Elrond ordered. The Elf-lord had begun to slice into deeper layers of Frodo's skin, and the hobbit jerked away, his breathes quickened as an anguished cry escaped his pale lips. Though the knife Elrond used was extremely sharp, and his hand was steady, there was some pain that Frodo could not be spared.  
  
Sam didn't speak; he couldn't if he had wanted to, the whole situation had shocked him into a silent state. He pressed down harder on Frodo's good shoulder, rubbing the cold little hand soothingly as he strained to hold his Master still while Elrond worked.  
  
At that moment, Gandalf returned from an errand that the elf had sent him on. "Elrond, here is the ointment you requested." The wizard spoke, as he came to sit on the side of the bed opposite the Elf-lord.  
  
"Thank you. Now, if you will, please rub it around the area where I am working. It should ease his pain and calm his nerves, allowing me to work faster and more efficiently."  
  
Gandalf nodded, dipping his finger into the mixture and rubbing it carefully on the outside of Frodo's freshly reopened wound.  
  
The hobbit struggled for a few more moments under the wizard's gentle touch before finally calming down and resting once more.  
  
Sam glanced down at his Master's shoulder, regretting it as he saw the bloody opening that Elrond was working over. He winced inwardly at the sight of so much blood smeared on the towels and bedclothes. Sam closed his eyes against the frightening sight, and tried not to allow his tears to fall.  
  
Gandalf and Sam sat with Frodo on into the evening as Elrond worked quickly, trying to locate the splinter. Gandalf had his own fears about this venture: Frodo shouldn't lose so much blood in his weakened state… but he knew in the back of his mind that it couldn't be helped. Either Frodo had to risk the chance of dying from loss of blood or possible infection, or he would perish when the Wraith's blade finally did pierce his heart. And in truth, Frodo hadn't lost all that much blood, but he was already so weak that any loss was considered a great one.  
  
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Read and review please! :) And don't forget to check out "September". 


	15. Chapter XV

A/N: Wow! I haven't updated this in. . . way, way too long. Sorry! :( I got so sidetracked with my other fic, that I completely neglected this one. Thank *all* of you for the reviews and continued interest in this fic! :) And shame on me for not updating sooner! Here's chapter 15. :)  
  
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Chapter XV:  
  
Elrond was unable to conceal a grin as he held up the bloodied splinter of Morgul blade. "I believe," he began, raising his eyes to meet Sam's anxious gaze, "That this is what we've been hoping to find."  
  
Frodo sighed audibly, as though a dark cloud had departed him. The simple action instilled hope in the hearts of those present in the room. If the Ring-bearer's spirit was already returning, so soon after the blade fragment was removed, then that bode well for Frodo's recovery.  
  
Sam smiled gratefully at the Elf-lord and then eyed the fragment suspiciously as he placed it on a small tray that lay waiting. "All that fuss over such a small thing." he thought aloud, shaking his head. All of this magic and wizardry, whether good or bad, was beyond him.  
  
"Indeed, Master Gamgee, so often that is the case," Elrond mused.  
  
"When will Mister Frodo wake up?" Sam asked insistently, "Will he be all right now that the cursed piece of metal is gone?" he persisted, stroking his master's dark mop of curls.  
  
Gandalf chuckled quietly from his chair on the other side of the bed, "Samwise, that *is* the question, is it not?" he sighed, "If asking it could have healed your Master then I believe he would have been up and about two days ago." He jested lightly. The wizard had begun to wish that he had placed a wager with Elrond on how many times the hobbit could ask the same question in one hour.  
  
"Yes, sir, Mister Gandalf, I suppose it is the question that's been on everyone's mind. But, beggin' your pardon, I believe it's one rightfully asked." Sam retorted gently, flashing Gandalf a small smile.  
  
The mood in the room was considerably lighter since the splinter of blade had been recovered. Frodo was, at last, past the worst danger. Though there was still the risk of infection and too much lost blood, it was a minute concern compared to the threat of becoming a Wraith. The Ring-bearer was strong, and if it were in him to survive, then he would come out of this predicament whole, and Elrond felt sure that he would.  
  
"Gandalf, would you mind fetching that box for me? The small one." He gestured towards a low table near the middle of the room.  
  
Gandalf retrieved the box, setting it down lightly on the bed next to where Elrond was working.  
  
"What's that for?" Sam asked, ever watchful of things that might possibly concern his master's well being.  
  
"The box contains the materials required for closing the wound, Samwise." Elrond answered casually, not looking up from his work.  
  
"You mean bandages? I've got some right decent ones in my pack, the ones we use at home in the Shire, they might fit him better." Sam offered, "I would get them myself, though I don't believe it would be right to disturb Mister Frodo, if you get my meaning." he pointed to Frodo's head where it lay cradled in his lap, "Mister Gandalf, is it too much of a bother for you to fetch them? They're just over there next to the window." Sam moved his hand from his Master's still form and pointed to where his travel worn pack lay crumpled on the other side of the room.  
  
"No, Master Gamgee, that won't be necessary." Elrond interjected, "I have all of the essential items right here." He pointed to the, now open, box.  
  
"Are you sure, sir?" Sam asked cautiously, "I don't mean to be mindin' your business for you, but all I see in that box is some thread, and thin thread at that. Thinnest I've ever seen." He rambled, obviously not realizing what the Elf-lord had in store for his master.  
  
Elrond ignored Sam's last comment and continued working over Frodo's shoulder. He fetched a clean towel from the dwindling stack and doused it in various clear, pleasant-smelling, liquids before pressing it to the wound on Frodo's shoulder.  
  
Sam gasped in surprise when Frodo whimpered, his body jerking beneath the younger hobbits' hands as he struggled to escape the sanitizing liquids on the cloth. "Shh. Mister Frodo. Mister Elrond is helping you; just hold on now." He soothed, patting his master's cheek gently. He took Frodo's left hand into his own, relieved to feel that some warmth had already begun to return to it.  
  
At length, Elrond was satisfied with the condition of the wound and laid the towel and bottles aside. He picked up the box, lifting the thread to reveal a small piece of cloth with several slightly curved, bone needles protruding from it.  
  
Sam's eyes grew large, "What are you doing!" he nearly yelled, not afraid to appear ill mannered.  
  
"Samwise, don't force me to ask you to leave." Elrond chastised gently. He wasn't surprised at the young hobbit's reaction, but he had already thought out which arguments he would use to counter Sam's.  
  
"But," Sam protested, "Y- You're not going to. . . use that needle on him, are you, sir?" he asked, his voice full of apprehension. Sam had heard of the procedure before. Occasionally a hobbit-lad or lass would take a bad fall and the resulting wound required more than just a bandage to be healed properly. Though, the thought of needles and thread being used on his dear Master, after he had already suffered so much, was almost too much for Sam. "I don't see where that's really necessary, Mister Elrond." Sam tried, attempting to dissuade the Elf-lord.  
  
Elrond said nothing, but continued to examine the needles, selecting just the right one for the job, passing it slowly through a candle flame.  
  
"No, sir, I'm sorry but I can't let you do that to Mister Frodo!" The hobbit argued, guarding Frodo's body protectively with his arms. Sam felt rather put out due to the fact that he was being ignored. He believed that he ought to have just as much of a say in his master's care as anyone else.  
  
Elrond paused in his preparations, meeting the gardener's eyes with a gaze that made Sam rethink his words and remember his place among these more powerful- not to mention more learned- beings. "Master Gamgee," Elrond began, his voice sharp, but not unkind, "You do not have to remain in this room if you cannot bear to watch this procedure." He reminded the hobbit, "This *is* necessary, Samwise." The Elf-lord continued, holding Sam's gaze, "Frodo's wound is nearly as deep as my hand is long, and as wide as my finger in some places." Elrond pointed out, holding up a hand in an effort to put a picture with his words. "We cannot risk an infection, it would be the end of him, Sam. He hasn't got the strength to fight more than is necessary, it would be foolish to risk adding more complications to this already precarious situation." Elrond continued, not satisfied until he had shocked Sam into a silent state. Though he was glad the young hobbit had remained in the room, for Frodo's sake, Sam had proved to be trying at times. "Look over there," Elrond gestured to the pile of bloodied towels, "All of the blood that stains those towels, is that much less blood that your master has in his body, Sam." He looked at Sam's face, noticing that it had paled further after seeing the towels.  
  
Sam nodded slowly, bowing his head, "I understand, sir." He murmured, beginning to stroke Frodo's cheek soothingly. "I just don't want him to hurt any more than he already he has, that's all." He confessed.  
  
"It will be all right, Samwise." Elrond smiled slightly, softening the tone of his voice, "The needle is extremely sharp, and I will work quickly. This thread is very fine, and I doubt that your master will feel much at all. . ." Elrond promised, "Even if he should feel pain, it is trivial compared to what he's already been through." The Elf-lord finished.  
  
Sam nodded once more; he knew Elrond was right. The journey from Weathertop to Rivendell had been awful for his master, for all of them, and throughout that time Frodo had experienced many things that a hobbit from the Shire should never had had to go through. What were a few needle pricks, if it meant that Frodo would be well again?  
  
"Sam?" Elrond questioned tentatively, he could tell that the hobbit was reliving an unpleasant memory. "Samwise I need you to pay attention. . .be ready to keep your master still, just in case he should jerk away." The Elf- lord directed.  
  
Sam looked away as Elrond positioned the needle above the tender skin surrounding his master's wound. He could not bear to watch the procedure, though he could hear the needle entering and exiting Frodo's flesh as Elrond's nimble fingers worked quickly with the needle and thread to close the opening.  
  
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When Elrond finished, the sun was only a few hours from rising. The Elf- lord set Gandalf to watch over the Ring-bearer. Frodo had exhibited little or no signs of pain during the procedure, much to Elrond's relief. The hobbit had immediately shown signs of improvement: the cold in his small body was receding, and his face wasn't nearly as pale. Elrond knew that Frodo was resting more comfortably now than he had in weeks.  
  
Sam sat up with his master as long as he was able to hold his eyelids open. Elrond had sent a servant to Frodo's room, bearing a lavish tray of food and drink for the weary gardener. Sam devoured the generous offering of delicacies, he was famished after sitting by Frodo's side all day watching Elrond probe around in his dear master's shoulder, leaving for brief periods only when necessary. Finally he felt that he was able to really enjoy his food, and then rest- almost without fear for his master's well being- for the first time since they had left the Shire. With his pent up weariness overcoming him rapidly, he was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.  
  
Gandalf smiled contently as he watched the two hobbits, servant and master, lying asleep in the large Elvish bed with its fancifully carved posts, and finely woven linens. Though raised in different classes, each possessed an equal amount of love, respect and dedication for the other. He knew that their closeness would see them through dark times that may lie ahead, though at the time there was no way he could have known just how right he was.  
  
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A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Please let me know what you think.  
  
I went back and reread a few chapters of this fic, and I was surprised at how differently I wrote this one compared to how I've been writing "September" (at least it seems that way to me.). There's still one more chapter left in this fic. . . I wanted to go ahead and post this now though because I start another job Wednesday and I just don't know when I'll be able to update again. I will try to finish chapter 8 of "September" before tomorrow night. :) 


	16. XVI

A/N: Finally, after almost five months, I have finished this fic! :) So sorry that it took me as long as it did!  
  
I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this fic, and taken their time to give me feedback, constructive criticism, and encouragement. You're all so kind! :)  
  
Also, I must thank everyone who has read and reviewed the mini-fic I posted last night. I'm so happy you all liked it! :) And, Ancalime, I'm so pleased to hear that you are enjoying my other fics! Thank you for your understanding! :) Your fic, "Frustration", is lovely!  
  
Unfortunately I did not have time to finish chapter 13 of "September" today. :( But, I promise to do my best to finish it early this week and get it uploaded.  
  
All right, I hope you all enjoy the last chapter of this fic: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------  
  
Chapter XVI:  
  
Sam opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the bright morning sun as it shone persistently through the many large windows in Frodo's room. For a moment he gazed up at the high ceiling in wonder, watching the water from the falls dance off of it in steady, rippling patterns. The young gardener breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh October air, lightly scented with the last of the late blooming flowers of summer and the comforting, ageless, unnamable scent that seemed surround all things Elvish.  
  
Suddenly, he bolted upright in bed, realizing that he had somehow fallen asleep during the wee hours of the morning. The events of the previous day rushed back into his mind, in a confused jumble. Waves of relief washed over him as he felt Frodo's warm left hand clasped gently in his own.  
  
"Dear Mister Frodo," Sam thought aloud, "You're lookin' well this morning, if I may say so myself." He smiled, stroking Frodo's dark-brown bangs out of the still-closed eyes.  
  
"Yes, Samwise, indeed he *is* well this morning." Gandalf agreed, taking another puff of his pipe, and blowing out the smoke in the form of a perfectly shaped, blue ring.  
  
Sam chuckled at the sight, pleased to see the Wizard in such good spirits. Gandalf looked more relaxed now than Sam had ever seen him.  
  
The smile on Sam's face faded as quickly as it had come, replaced with a somewhat disappointed look of anxiety, "I thought he would be awake by now. . ." the gardener muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "When will you wake up, dear Master?" he directed the question to Frodo's peacefully resting form.  
  
"In good time, Samwise." Gandalf answered, his voice held reassuring, almost father like, tone. "It was only just last night that the splinter of blade was removed, you must remember. He is still very weary from his ordeal, Sam." Gandalf continued, "Let him rest, he surely needs it."  
  
"I know. . ." Sam shook his head slowly, "It's just that, I wish I knew for sure that he's going to be all right." The Hobbit sighed, "All of the Elves, and you too, keep sayin' he's going to wake up in good time, but I won't believe it until I see his eye's open for myself."  
  
"Do not worry," Gandalf reassured Sam, "Go to breakfast now, Merry and Pippin have already been there nearly half an hour." Gandalf encouraged, raising his eyebrows and grinning slightly. "Frodo will be here when you get back, I promise."  
  
Sam didn't say anything, but he knew that if Merry and Pippin had already been at breakfast for a while, then there might not be much left for him to pick from if he didn't hurry and go claim his share of the food.  
  
"Yes, Mister Gandalf." Sam said quickly, jumping down from Frodo's bed and running for the door. He paused at the entryway, turning back for one last glimpse at his master. Sam looked at Gandalf, his eyes asking a question before his lips could move to do so.  
  
"Yes, yes, I'll be right here when you get back. I won't leave him unattended." The Wizard promised, and turned his attention back to his pipe.  
  
Sam scurried quickly down the main hall, to the dining room where breakfast, or what was left of breakfast, awaited.  
  
Gandalf gazed thoughtfully out of the nearest window, listening to the rhythmic sound of Frodo's breathing mingling with the gentle rush of water coming in from outside. He was pleased that his decisions thus far had proven to be wise ones, and everything had, seemingly, worked out for the best.  
  
Gandalf still found himself amazed, when looking at Frodo's slight form lying peacefully under white linens in the large Elven bed, knowing that it was he-- a small Shire-Hobbit, so naïve and innocent to the ways of the world, who had borne such evil over so great distance and against such odds.  
  
And what a price the dear Hobbit had had to pay, too. It saddened the Wizard to know that Frodo's first real taste of the world had been so perilous and painful for him. And perhaps most tragic of all was the fact that he would never be able to fully recover from the physical wound he had received from the Wraith.  
  
"At least," Gandalf thought, "this is all that will be asked of him. He can return home to live in peace, peace of both body and mind, knowing that the evil which tainted his dear Shire now lies safely in the keeping of the Elves." Gandalf took another draught of his pipe.  
  
The old Wizard sat long in silence, trying to suppress feelings of guilt-- guilt for putting Frodo in such a position in the first place. Though Gandalf felt sure that his decision had been the wisest one, given the circumstances. It was a difficult choice to make, laying so heavy a burden upon one so young, but unfortunately what had been done could not be undone. Frodo's spirit, and the beliefs and values of the Hobbit race, was completely against what had been asked of him. They were a people small of stature and great of heart, no doubt, but to involve themselves in such worldly issues was unheard of. And yet, Frodo had agreed to bear the ring as far as Rivendell. Stranger still was that three loyal companions followed him unquestioningly; largely unaware of the real danger they were all in.  
  
"Why?" Gandalf thought, "Why did he take this on, at my bidding alone?"  
  
The Wizard was sure that he knew the answer to that question. Frodo cared a great deal about the Shire, and given the explanation Gandalf had provided as to why this evil power must be kept from the enemy's hands, it was no wonder that Frodo had agreed to make the journey, no matter what danger he put himself in. But surely, none of the Hobbits could have known the real risk involved.  
  
Gandalf sighed, knowing that second-guessing himself now would not undo the hurts done to these gentle creatures. And yet, he knew that everything happened for a reason, that every event was but a small part of a much larger plan, and that the conclusion of the larger plan was based upon the assemblage of previous events throughout the ages. Everything mattered, no deed-small or large-- went unnoticed, and nothing was unaccounted for at the End.  
  
Frodo stirred beneath the covers, his dark lashes fluttered open to reveal two bright blue eyes. The eyes rose slowly and rested their gaze on the ceiling, in much the same way that Sam's had done earlier. Frodo seemed content for the moment, not to question where he was, or how he had gotten there, but just to enjoy the sight and scent and safety of the valley.  
  
Gandalf sat silently, observing the waking Hobbit. Frodo's eyes were clear, as they should be, as they had always been before. Though the Wizard could not say that Frodo was unchanged: there was something different about the Hobbit, something beneath the dark circles that still lingered beneath his eyes, or the thinness of his face. To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Frodo were merely recovering from an illness, not a deadly wound coupled with the stress of a frantic journey to the home of Elrond.  
  
Gandalf continued to regard the Hobbit in silence, and the Hobbit continued to gaze contentedly at the ceiling. For a moment it seemed as though time had stopped altogether, that the Hobbit and Wizard had forgotten their cares.  
  
Gandalf and Frodo, though each unaware of the others presence, preserved that carefree moment in their respective minds and recalled it later, during more turbulent and frightening times, and it served as incentive to keep fighting for what good still remained. The memory itself was a promise of the good that would surely pass safely through those dark times, and emerge into a new world, free from the imminent threat of danger.  
  
THE END 


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